


Dear Santa

by Snowy38



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Louis, Christmas, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mounds of fluff, Paeditrician!Harry, Reminiscing, Santa (of course), Single Dad Louis, editor!Louis, past relationship, sexy stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 04:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13046763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy38/pseuds/Snowy38
Summary: "Dear Santa...I know you're very busy and you have lots of toys to make but I wondered if this year I could ask for something else. I changed my mind about the puppy and I'd like to ask if you can help me instead. "Miss. Fields looks mildly bemused as Beau takes a breath."I used to have a really cool Doctor; possibly the coolest doctor ever and then he went away only he's back and he helped me feel better and I'd really, really like it if I could say hi to him again.""Who was your doctor, Beau?" Her teacher asks."Dr. Styles," she replies with a sweet smile.Miss. Fields glances over to Sam."He's just come back into town hasn’t he? I'm sure we can arrange for you to say hello...""My Daddy won't let me," she pouts, scratching a nail against her page a little.She's decorated it with glitter in the colours of the rainbow."We can ask him if it’s alright," Miss. Fields suggests. “Perhaps he can come with us?”"Oh, can we?" Beau beams, gasping.Her teacher smiles and rests a gentle hand on her back."Think of something else you'd like to ask Santa for," she suggests.





	Dear Santa

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all
> 
> This is written from a prompt given to me by @BestLarrieFics. I have another Christmas Special which will be posted on Christmas (or near) and the same for New Year's Eve.
> 
> Happy festive spirit ;)
> 
> Ang

 

"Beau, why have you still got that dirty old bear?" Louis Tomlinson asks his daughter pertinently as Beau drags the white cloth toy along when she walks into the kitchen to watch him cook; evidently bored by the _Frozen_ DVD he'd put on play only ten minutes ago.

 

"It's a rabbit, not a bear."

 

And Louis knows that. How can he be expected to forget?

 

"I thought he went out with the bins last week," Louis mutters as he throws chopped vegetables into a hot wok for his last-minute stir fry.

 

"I saved him," Beau tells him with a suspiciously dubious look. "You didn't try to get rid him did you, Daddy?"

 

Louis' brows hit his forehead.

 

"Who me? As if I would! He probably just got caught up in some old rags we were throwing out..."

 

Louis has (if anything) become a good liar. It's an essential parenting skill along with being completely insane and utterly selfless.

 

"You never liked him," Beau pouts, stroking a small hand over her toy rabbit lovingly while squeezing him against her chest.

 

Her hair is the same colour as Louis'; thick and chestnut. Her eyes are the same blue. She has her mother's elfin features, but Diana is no longer around for Beau to judge her likeness to. She died giving birth to the beautiful little girl that Louis gets to call his.

 

And Beau hasn't had the easiest of starts. Born in difficult circumstances that ultimately led to Diana's death, she suffers developmental problems which must be monitored closely.

 

"That's not true!" Louis denies of her accusation. 

 

"It's because I called him Haribo."

 

Louis swallows, turning his attention back to the stove. He can't deny that accusation because it's true. Beau named her toy after the person who gifted it, Paediatrician Dr. Harry Styles.

 

Harry is also fond of the sweets that the bunny got named after.

 

"Can we at least give him a wash?" Louis changes the topic artfully, pushing onto his tiptoes to reach for plates from the cupboard.

 

"He might fall apart," Beau whines.

 

"God forbid," Louis murmurs under his breath; then turns with a bright (if fake) smile. "We'll put him in a pillow case, how does that sound?"

 

Beau blinks at him distrustfully.

 

"Can I do it?" She bargains.

 

"Of course you can," Louis ruffles her hair and goes back to dishing up their dinner.

 

//

 

"Daddy?"

 

Louis is texting on his phone while Beau walks beside him, jumping over puddles and tugging on his arm with each leap.

 

She's come on so well in the two years since she left Dr. Styles' care, but Louis knows she's still self- conscious of the birth mark stretching across her cheek. He knows she had conversations with Harry about it because Harry had told him. Quietly, when they were tangled in bed together once when Beau was staying at a friend’s house overnight. Harry told him it would fade by the time she was seven or so. Infantile Haemangioma. Louis had looked it up.

 

"Yes, Love?" He answers his daughter distractedly.

 

"Can I see Dr. Harry again?"

 

She asks at least once a week.  At first Louis had been patient, had softly told her that no, they could not see Harry anymore. After the thirteenth ask, his patience began to wear thin.

 

Now it’s as regular as wanting a puppy for Christmas (which is in two weeks, hence Louis' frantic texting).

 

"No, Love, we can't. I told you why."

 

"You said he moved."

 

"Exactly," Louis smiles. 

 

"But I saw him the other day..."

 

Louis freezes, stock still in the middle of the pavement.

 

"You saw him?"

 

"Mm-hmm," Beau hums.

 

"Where?" Louis asks, crouching to look at her.

 

" _He_ didn't see _me_ ," she explains casually, as though Louis' heart isn't thundering through his chest. 

 

"Where did you see him, Love?" Louis asks again.

 

"Outside school."

 

Louis' body goes cold, his skin turns clammy.

 

"Was he waiting for you? Was he at the gate?"

 

Beau shakes her head.

 

"Nope."

 

Louis feels like shaking her to get the truth. He cups her arms gently.

 

"What was he doing?"

 

Beau's hand lifts, her fingers pushing at his fallen fringe to tame it back.

 

"He was dropping off Sam Hitchin and his mother," she relays. "He's having help with his foot."

 

"His foot?" Louis breathes; mind drifting elsewhere.

 

"Yes, he caught it in the climbing frame, remember? And Daddy?"

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Why do you get that funny look on your face when you're thinking about Dr. Harry?"

 

Louis snaps his gaze back to his daughter and stands up, taking her hand once more. He’s quite certain he doesn’t get _any_ kind of look on his face at the mere mention of Harry’s name. _Completely_ certain, in fact.

 

He sighs.

 

"Let's get you to school."

 

//

 

"Today we're going to write our letters to Santa!" Miss. Field calls out to the class. "You can decorate it to make it lovely and colourful and you can ask him for what you'd like for Christmas..."

 

Christmas is Beau's favourite time of year. Not only does Santa visit with his reindeer (who she'd love to pet but hasn't managed to stay awake long enough to, yet) but it's also her Daddy's birthday the day _before_ Christmas.

 

And her Daddy hates Christmas. He pretends to like it, puts what he thinks is a smile on his face and pays her a lot of attention, but Beau _knows_. She knows her Daddy hates Christmas. And he only started hating Christmas two years ago because Dr. Harry (Haribo) moved away right before Daddy's birthday.

 

So, it's got to be a good sign that he’s back. It's _got_ to be _._ She just doesn't understand why her Daddy doesn't want to find out where Harry moved back _to_. Because she _knows_  Daddy likes Dr. Harry.

 

She knows it because they smiled at each other _a lot._ More than her best friend Joe Dean's parents and they're _married._

 

So, she knows her Daddy likes him, he's just probably shy about talking to him since it's been a whole two years. 

 

Well, Beau can ask Santa for _anything_. Miss Fields just said. So, she's going to ask him for help. Or Dr. Harry. Or maybe both.

 

She purses her lips in consideration as she reaches for some paper to start the most important letter of her life.

 

//

 

_His lips should be hesitant but they're not, they're sure. He seems to know exactly what he wants and he's confident he's going to get it._

_Louis' weak to the demand, sliding his arms around Harry's waist and kissing him back with equal fervour._

_Harry's breath catches and he tightens his hold on Louis- arms also tight around his waist as he slants his mouth to kiss him again; sweeter this time, this time with slow savouring over the union._

_"Harry," Louis combs fingers into his short hair and pushes them through the cropped strands, curling them to cup his head gently, eyes flicking to meet the shadowed green._

_Harry's hand slides into his lower back as he shuffles; pressing Louis' back against the Medical Centre wall; the hidden alcove their only salvation._

_They're kissing again just as quickly, Louis ' thigh now in Harry's grip and hauled upwards to create space for Harry to press into. Louis tries to remember a time he's been kissed like this; scrabbles for a memory of ever feeling this hot._

_Harry licks into his mouth and Louis clutches at his shoulders- surprising broad and strong considering how tall and lean Harry looks.  He's incredibly tall and it makes Louis' knees weak._

_"We can't," it's gasped before teeth bite sweetly into his skin; tongue lathing roughly over his neck to soothe the sting._

_"Yes, we fucking can," Louis argues, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as Harry finds another part of him he wants to taste. Louis wouldn't mind doing his own biting once Harry's done with him._

_Harry moans, wedging his body closer with a rough thrust; nose buried against Louis' neck as he catches his breath. Louis strokes gentle fingers over his neck and shoulder; half bared from his Argyll jumper and the t-shirt layered under it._

_"Come back to mine," Louis whispers. "After. After Beau's had her assessment and-"_

_Harry's eyes are dark and blown-out. His body is fitted so tightly with Louis' that he almost forgot why he was even here in the first place._

_"Come home with me," Louis whispers._

 

He still hears the whispers when he's falling asleep. They still go unanswered. 

 

//

 

"What does your letter say, Beau?"

 

Miss. Fields is walking around the table to look at the near-finished letters of her class.

 

Beau smirks, picking up her letter proudly. 

 

"Dear _Santa_...I know you're very busy and you have lots of toys to make but I wondered if this year I could ask for something else. I changed my mind about the puppy and I'd like to ask if you can help me instead. "

 

Miss. Fields looks mildly bemused as Beau takes a breath.

 

"I used to have a really cool Doctor; possibly _the_ coolest doctor _ever_ and then he went away only he's back and he helped me feel better and I'd really, _really_ like it if I could say hi to him again."

 

"Who was your doctor, Beau?" Her teacher asks.

 

"Dr. Styles," she replies with a sweet smile.

 

Miss. Fields glances over to Sam.

 

"He's just come back into town hasn’t he? I'm sure we can arrange for you to say hello..."

 

"My Daddy won't let me," she pouts, scratching a nail against her page a little.

 

She's decorated it with glitter in the colours of the rainbow.

 

"We can ask him if it’s alright," Miss. Fields suggests. “Perhaps he can come with us?”

 

"Oh, can we?" Beau beams, gasping.

 

Her teacher smiles and rests a gentle hand on her back.

 

"Think of something else you'd like to ask Santa for," she suggests.

 

Beau goes back to her letter.

 

//

 

"Mr. Tomlinson?"

 

The voice is not one he recognises but he's only met Beau’s teachers once at the open evening when he enrolled her in the specialist school.

 

"Hi!" He fixes a bright smile onto his face and half salutes, half waves.

 

"I'm Maggie Fields " the woman greets. "Come into my office," she gestures with a sweep.

 

Beau had come home with a letter asking him to attend a brief, after-school meeting which had set his nerves on edge. If something was happening with Beau at school, then he needed to know but he wasn't sure what to expect.

 

"Please sit down," Maggie offers him a comfortable-looking arm chair.

 

Louis sits, tapping his fingers impatiently.

 

"So, what's this about?"

 

"Well," Maggie sits opposite him. "Beau wrote a letter to Santa in class and one of her wishes we can actually fulfil..."

 

Louis frowns. Beau hadn't brought her letter home or even mentioned it to him.

 

"Oh?" He ventures with a nervous swallow.

 

They better not give him a puppy. He can barely look after himself.

 

"She's asked to see Dr. Styles, a child specialist. He often has meetings with our students and it would be quite simple to set something up..."

 

"No," Louis barks, hard eyes lifting to hers as he swallows again dryly. He realises he sounds a bit harsh. "That is...um, thank you for the offer but, no."

 

"She's expressed quite some sadness at not being able to say hello to him," Maggie ventures, leaning forward slightly. "We called you in so that we could arrange a mutually convenient time."

 

"Harry's _here?"_ Louis blurts.

 

Maggie's brows arch.

 

"Not in person," she flashes her mobile phone at him. "I have his number."

 

Louis has his number too but _fuck it_ if he doesn't want to swipe the smug look off Maggie's face. Why's she so fucking happy about it anyway? Harry's probably given his number out to half the school because of his job. 

 

"Right," he muses. "And if I say no?"

 

Maggie seems to have forgotten this little detail in her enthusiasm for texting the Doctor. Louis' belly bubbles. He ignores it.

 

"Beau would be _very_ upset," she murmurs softly. "Would it really be against your wishes for her to have five minutes to say hello?"

 

Louis stares at the woman.

 

If he admits it _would_ be against his wishes, he's going to look like the worst father ever. If he concedes to the request though...well, then he's got to face Harry.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

Maybe he can just wait outside the office or in his car while his daughter falls in love with the attractive Paediatrician all over again. _Louis_ is not going to make that mistake twice.

 

"Five minutes," he says as he stands.

 

He has a great many things to say to his daughter on the way home.

 

//

 

"But I just want to say hi!"

 

Beau's red in the face and crying and Louis knows it's his fault, but his daughter is also a wonderful trouble maker.

 

"You shouldn't have gone behind my back like that," he chides.

 

"I asked _Santa_ ," she argues. "Not Miss. Fields. It's not my fault she took it off Santa's list!"

 

Louis has no argument to that reasoning. Honestly, kids are so bright he's sure they can outdo him most days.

 

"Fine, I said you could have five minutes..."

 

Beau sniffles and looks at him while she wipes her eyes.

 

"Y- you did?"

 

Louis nods.

 

Beau bites her lip and looks at her lap.

 

"Thank you, Daddy."

 

"You're welcome. Now stop crying because I'm making cheese on toast for dinner."

 

Beau giggles and Louis smirks. They both know cheese on toast doesn’t take much to make but as a struggling single parent he considers it a success that they both get fed. When he has five minutes to think about it, he'll make sure their diet is nutritional as well as necessary.

 

"Love you," Beau mumbles quietly into the car.

 

"I love you too, beautiful."

 

//

 

Louis feels sick.

 

He's always felt sick with his nerves. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands and he didn’t know what to wear to the meeting; half wanting to show Harry what he’s missing and half not wanting to give Harry the impression he cares enough to dress nice for him.

 

He hovers in the hallway, hoping that Harry would have arrived early so that the meeting could take place without them having to _see_ each other.

 

Beau wouldn't leave his side, only sitting in the classroom to stack bricks once Maggie relays that Harry is running late.

 

Louis wants to be annoyed at that; he wants to hold it against him but Harry’s probably out doing Saintly things so that even being late has an excuse.

 

A bit like not showing up at all.

 

He shakes his head and licks his teeth with a bitter smile, hashing out a breath. _Did he honestly think he could do this?_

 

He shuffles his feet, about to tell Beau he'll be in the car when;

 

"Louis?"

 

Oh god.

 

Oh god his _voice_.

 

Louis swallows and looks up. He's there. It's really him and he's...he’s kind of stunning. Incredible, actually.

 

He's in a leather jacket with black jeans and a black hooded jumper; his short hair tufted where it used to be styled away from his face smoothly. His skin is still clear; his lips look darker than usual and if Louis has judged it right, Harry's wearing a hint of smudged grey eye shadow and dark eye-liner.

 

"Came from work, did you?" It sounds wry but it's all he can muster among the bricks in his lungs.

 

Harry blinks; curly lashes batting over olive eyes that Louis once got lost in.

 

"No, I-" his voice is rough and he stops to clear his throat. "I had the day off."

 

Louis wants to stare. He wants to relearn the shape of his thighs and the taste of his mouth only he _can't_. Harry made that clear and Louis isn't dumb enough to fall for his charm again.

 

He gestures to the door of the classroom and flicks his eyes away.

 

"Beau's waiting for you in there..."

 

Harry hesitates, booted feet fidgeting. The boots are black leather, slightly pointed and buckled; not like the tan suede he used to wear.

 

Seems Harry does a lot of things now that he never used to. Louis refuses to examine why his stomach is turning somersaults at his eye-make-up and lipstick.

 

"Are you sure it's okay? I don't want to make things awkward..."

 

Louis snorts out a derisive laugh. 

 

"Bit late for that, don't you think?"

 

Louis doesn't get to see Harry's expression because Beau appears in the doorway.

 

"Dr. Haribo!" She gasps, arms lifting into the air in happy reaction.

 

Harry glances away from Louis and untucks his hands from his jacket pockets and is that - is that black _nail varnish_ he's wearing, too?

 

"Hey, Beau!" Harry lowers himself to one knee as Beau clings to the door jamb shyly.

 

Louis feels his heart miss a beat when he realises his daughter’s reluctance is because of _him_. He’s made her feel uncomfortable about greeting Harry how she’d like to and he feels guilt spear his chest. He sighs and walks over to her.

 

"It’s alright, Love. Go and give Harry a hug..."

 

Beau looks up to him with a breath-taking smile and runs towards Harry with a giggle.

 

He catches her carefully and hugs her gently with a dimpled smile of his own. 

 

Louis has licked those dimples. He’s poked them and slid his thumbs into their grooves and it's shocking to know he wants to do all of those things again; despite how Harry hurt him.

 

Harry puts Beau away from himself and flicks his eyes to Louis. 

 

"If it's okay with your Dad, we can have a quick colouring-in session before you go home..."

 

"Daddy?" Beau turns to ask him right away.

 

"I'll wait for you out here," he promises.

 

Harry lets Beau tug him into the classroom by his hand.

 

//

 

"So, what else was on your letter to Santa?" Louis enquires on the way home.

 

"Daddy did you see him? He's so nice! He's just the same...I thought maybe he'd be different now."

 

"He looks different," Louis murmurs more to himself than Beau.

 

"Can I paint his nails, Daddy?"

 

"Is that a Christmas wish?" Louis tries to refocus the conversation onto something _other_ than Harry.

 

"Just think," she splays her fingers over her thighs. "We can do each other's. He's so _cool_ isn't he Daddy? Isn't Harry cool?"

 

" _So_ cool," Louis echoes dryly.

 

And he was a fucking idiot to think five minutes would end his daughter's obsession with Harry because two fucking years hasn't ended _his_. He still aches for Harry in ways his body has never ached before and he can't explain it to anyone because he doesn’t understand it himself.

 

"Daddy?"

 

_Here it comes._

 

"Yes, Love?"

 

"Can Harry come for Christmas?"

 

//

 

Louis chokes, pulling to the side of the road until his coughing fit subsides.

 

"I'm sure Harry will be spending Christmas with his family, Beau," Louis points out.

 

Beau is shaking her head.

 

"He said he came back because his Mummy went to heaven and he likes it here so he's spending Christmas alone...Daddy didn't you say that _nobody_ should spend Christmas alone?"

 

Louis _had_ said that. _Fuck_. Why did he fucking say that? He was probably trying to blackmail Beau into seeing one of her elderly relatives and now his lies were coming back to haunt him.

 

"He's got a couple of weeks to find a family to invade," Louis assures breezily. 

 

And if he tries hard enough he can ignore the gaping open wound that sliced into his chest the moment Beau told him Harry's Mother had passed. Because that night...the night Louis had asked him to come home...the night Harry _hadn't_ come over. Well. That must be the night he'd gone home to Manchester, then. 

 

And two days later when Harry had messaged him to say that he'd had to leave town in a hurry and wouldn't be back, Louis had already spent two days with a broken heart.

 

Because Harry coming home with him would have consolidated his feelings (had he had them). It would have signalled a serious shift from patient and Doctor into something more intimate.

 

Louis had hoped that after that night that they'd be more like boyfriends. He'd hoped that Beau could get to know him as a little more than her Doctor.

 

But Harry's disappearance and subsequent brief, perfunctory words and lack of explanation had only left Louis believing that Harry had changed his mind completely the second they'd parted after that last, heated kiss.

 

It had only made him think that Harry had requested an immediate, overnight transfer to get as far away from him as possible. And it had _hurt._ It had ripped him apart, but he had been too proud to beg for Harry to come back.

 

So, he'd cried in private and forced a smile on his face for Beau's sake, but he had a feeling she already knew his heart wasn’t the same, despite the little girl not knowing the truth of their tryst.

 

And now there was a valid reason for Harry's withdrawal; for his leaving (If not for his lack of communication thereafter). And he didn't know why a sudden curious fluttering started up in his chest, but it was there, delicate like a dove's wings.

 

//

 

" _We_ can be the family he invades."

 

Beau sits up at the table, perfectly angelic in her features.

 

Louis doesn't see her birth mark anymore; doesn't notice her slight slurring of certain words or behavioural problems unless she's tired and has a tantrum.

 

He _does_ see her transparent attempt at match-making though.  Because despite being five years old, somehow Beau knows exactly how Harry made Louis feel when he was around.

 

"I'm sure he has plenty of offers," Louis comments.

 

Harry used to have single mothers queueing around the block with their children who were perfectly healthy; all just wanting a chance to be asked on a date by the Doctor who's great with kids. 

 

"But we could be his _first_ offer," Beau argues. "You can't say no to your first offer, can you?"

 

Louis wishes he kept alcohol in the house at times like this.

 

"Eat your toast," he says in lieu of a proper answer.

 

Beau eyes her cheese on toast warily. 

 

"You know what else Harry can do?"

 

"I'm sure you'll enlighten me," Louis slides his own dinner onto a plate and sits at the table.

 

"He can cook really, really well."

 

Louis chews on his slightly burned toast, spread with thinly melted cheese since they'd almost run out. He remembers Harry's cooking, too. He used to send Beau home with blue iced cupcakes until Louis was forced to go into his office with his daughter to address the baking phenomenon. 

 

Obviously, that was fatal. Once he'd _seen_ Harry there was no turning back.

 

"We are _not_ inviting Harry for Christmas," Louis states.

 

Beau nibbles on her toast.

 

It's in her letter to Santa and one of her Christmas wishes has already come true. She decides not to argue and instead looks to the ceiling. If Santa is up there she hopes he's listening.

 

//

 

"We should probably talk..."

 

Dr. Harry Styles is a far cry from the leather-jacketed man Louis saw a few days ago.

 

In his work environment his face and nails are clean. His fingers don't bear any of the collection of pretty rings Louis spotted on his fingers before. He bought him a ring for Christmas two years ago, but he hasn't had the chance to give it to him and it eats him up wondering if he would have worn it, perhaps replacing another ring or maybe even doubling up with one.

 

There's sorrow lining his eyes and sadness softening the green of his irises and he looks younger for it somehow.

 

Right now, as Louis waits for Beau to be done with her new physician; he finds it hard to avoid looking at him.

 

Harry’s wearing a plain black jumper with smart slacks and a pair of rainbow tongued loafers that Louis is silently jealous of. His hair is styled now unlike last time, fingered through and starting to develop the curls he's known for.

 

Louis knows deep down that Harry is right. They have so much to talk about, but he's not prepared to let hope blossom. It surges from the pit of his stomach excitedly, but he slaps it down. He’s curious as to whether he’s misread everything that happened two Christmases ago, but his heart is also scared to find out in case it opens old wounds.

 

"Oh?"

 

"About Beau," Harry adds. "They want to transfer her file back over to me."

 

Louis flicks his eyes over his jumper-clad chest and distractedly thinks how comfy he looks. How warm he might be to hug.

 

_About Beau. Of course._

 

"Okay," Louis sucks in a breath. "How long are you in town for?"

 

Harry's eyes meet his, almost dark in challenge.

 

"For good. "

 

Drake Denton had told Louis that Harry was renting the attic apartment in his barn conversion. It didn't sound permanent. He doesn’t have an issue with Harry treating Beau as such; but he _does_ need to stop the way his heart stutters every time he sees him.

 

Harry isn't his. It’s likely he never will be, even if Louis wants him to be (which he doesn’t). He _doesn’t._

 

"Whatever you think is best for Beau's care," Louis murmurs. 

 

Harry nods and Louis really wants scream at him, ask him why he sent that dismissive text two years ago only to re-appear out of the blue with no warning and no explanation. But he can't bring himself to be angry because Harry looks broken. And he seems determined not to mention the past so Louis doesn't know how to ask him what happened. 

 

"I want to discuss some ongoing therapy options with you if you're still interested..."

 

Louis tries to work out if there's a hidden meaning behind his words. Harry seems to tell a whole other story with his eyes that Louis would once have felt confident to decipher.  Not anymore.

 

"Sure," Louis shrugs, eyes remaining on Harry's as he tries to read his soul.  

 

"Shall we book you in, then?" He fidgets nervously under Louis' gaze and Louis dips his chin to take a breath. 

 

Harry steps forward to lead him to the desk to set up a date in the computer and Louis steps back to allow him the room to move.

 

//

 

"Haribo is ready for the washing machine!" Beau lifts the pillow case up to evidence this fact to Louis while he shoves in clothes amid frying fish-fingers on the hob.

 

"So I see!" Louis takes the pillow case and ties the top, tucking it into the drum of the washing machine. "There, all safe," he smiles.

 

Beau hugs him and he takes a minute to hug her back.

 

"We should get a present for Dr. Harry," she says then as she pulls away.

 

Louis reaches their dinner just in time, stirring some beans and checking his mash. He’d given Beau the news about them returning to Harry’s care and she’d been over-the-moon ever since. Louis wishes he could feel as excited but the truth is, he feels only anxiety at their impending meet-ups.

 

"I don't think that's necessary, Beau," he calls over his shoulder.

 

"But he has other gifts on his desk, Daddy," she pleads. "We can't be the only ones not bringing him something..."

 

Louis swallows. 

 

"What else has he got?" He enquires casually. 

 

"Ummm...I saw some pictures and cards..."

 

"What about flowers?" Louis asks. "Does he have any flowers?"

 

Beau presses herself against him, clingy for once. When she started her specialist school she had a burst of independence, but tonight she seems to crave his embrace.

 

"I didn't see any."

 

"Alright, we'll get some flowers," Louis agrees.

 

Harry used to like flowers. Louis couldn't hand them to him; their liaisons had to be kept secret and hidden from the hospital bosses, but Louis used to have them delivered; all kinds of pretty colours and it signalled his heart becoming invested in a man he had only managed to snatch brief moments with, but he hadn't ever thought how Harry truly felt about receiving his gifts; whether Louis' intensity frightened him or if he welcomed the sign of Louis' affection.

 

He only knew that Harry kissed him harder after he sent him flowers. He knew that Harry whispered _thank you's_ into his lips between those kisses.

 

 _Shit_.

 

Maybe flowers weren't a good idea. But they'd be from _Beau_ and not him. Not officially.

 

Yeah. So. That would be ok.

 

 

//

 

"Beau these are amazing, thank you! Just what I need to brighten up my desk," Harry carries the pink and lilac bouquet to the small sink in his office and opens the cupboard to look for a vase.

 

He brings them back with a smile that pools his dimples and Louis finds his heartbeat tripping over itself again. He'd had a stern word with himself about that and he presses his lips together in annoyance that his body's not listening.

 

"Did you pick them out?" Harry asks as he guides the little girl towards a seat, Louis moving to sit beside her once Harry has settled with his patient notes.

 

"It was Daddy's idea," Beau pipes up.

 

And _technically_ she's not lying. It _was_ Louis idea to get the flowers, but he hadn't planned on Harry knowing that.

 

Harry's gaze shifts to him and Louis worries that Beau's words might instigate some wistful hope within Harry, but he has no need to worry because Harry looks away when Louis smiles wanly.

 

"You used to like flowers," he murmurs quietly, looking to his hands which he's cradling between jeaned thighs.

 

"I still do," Harry mumbles back, just as quiet. "Thank you."

 

There's no hint that Harry thinks Louis meant the flowers to be anything more than a ‘ _welcome back’_ gift and he can't help but feel a bit miffed. Harry's the one who left suddenly and dismissed him with a text message. He should want Louis back, shouldn't he? He should want forgiveness and a second chance and the fact that he doesn't...actually hurts.

 

It's almost as if Louis wants the right to be indignant, to purge some of that heartbreak but Harry's sombre mood has him secretly concerned. He's like a shell of the Harry he knew; disconnected and aloof; almost like a man with a lost memory.

 

Only Louis knows he remembers.  He knows Harry is inside the husk of his outer body somewhere. And Harry's outer body is just as attractive (If not more) than Louis remembered but it's only a small part of what Louis fell in love with. 

 

And he almost wants to win Harry over. He almost wants to offer him somewhere to stay over Christmas because -

 

"Did you hear that, Daddy?"

 

Louis snaps his gaze up. _No, no he didn't hear a word..._

 

"Sorry I was um...my mind was elsewhere."

 

Beau smiles at him in a way that is far too smug for a five-year-old.

 

“You have that look again,” she whispers, and Louis feels his cheeks heat when Harry glances at him curiously but there is absolutely no explanation for what he says next.

 

“So, uh, where are you spending Christmas?”

 

Harry’s as surprised by the question as Louis is, brows shooting up his forehead. His eyes slide to Beau and he presses his pouty lips together before meeting Louis’ eyes once more.

 

“Here,” Harry answers despite everything. “And I was just telling Beau about the different kinds of therapy that might help her development…”

 

“Daddy thinks you should spend Christmas with us,” Beau blurts out, clear and loud.

 

Harry’s eyes widen comically; lips parting. He seems to resettle a professional mask over his features, a tiny, exasperated breath leaving his lungs.

 

“I’m, um…I uh, I think that-,”

 

“Daddy, _tell_ him,” Beau grasps his knee and squeezes.

 

Louis licks his lips, blue eyes meeting blue. _Fuck_. Beau is his fucking daughter, alright. Trouble with a capital T. He’ll wait until they’re home to serve her punishment, though. Because right now Harry’s staring at him with unblinking eyes; daring him to confirm or deny Beau’s claim.

 

And it’s true that Harry hurt him. More than he’s ever been hurt before. But it’s also true that he’s sitting there looking like Louis’ answer might be the most important thing he’s ever heard in his life; and why is that? Why does Harry even care whether Louis wants to invite him over or not?

 

 “I did mention _once_ ,” Louis emphasises the word with a tight smile. “That nobody should spend Christmas alone. And what kind of hypocrite would I be if I didn’t extend that theory across all of the friends Beau and I have made?” He asks himself more than anyone else in the room.

 

Harry stays strangely still for a long, breath-holding moment until he shifts; lips tugging up in one corner. Louis remembers the gesture only too well; used to kiss the smirk off his mouth sometimes.

 

“You don’t need to invite me because you feel obligated,” Harry assures with a smooth, deep voice. “I’m old enough to look after myself.”

 

“He _wants_ you to come, though,” Beau insists, glaring at Louis. “Don’t you, Daddy? _Tell_ him,” she presses.

 

Louis glances at her and gives her one of his best silencing looks.

 

“I think you’ve already said enough, don’t you?” He murmurs.

 

He assumes Beau will dip her head in concession and mumble an apology, but his little girl stands up; features pulling into an angry frown.

 

“Why don’t you just tell him?” She beseeches; breaths hitching at the start of tears. “You stopped smiling when he left!” She accuses. “And we missed him! We both missed him!”

 

Louis gapes as Beau runs to the door, throwing it open to streak into the hall amongst loud, bawling sobs. Luckily, he doesn’t get a chance to look at Harry’s face before he races after her. He’s not sure what he’d say if he stayed.

 

//

 

"Daddy can we put up the Christmas tree?"

 

Louis’ thumb hovers his text message window.

 

“Hm?”

 

“The tree,” Beau repeats patiently. “Can you bring it down from the attic, so that I can decorate it?”

 

“What, now?” Louis locks his phone and looks up across the living room to his daughter who’s curled in the arm-chair.

 

“I’m bored,” she complains lightly, twisting Haribo’s ears together. “Plus, I can dress Haribo as an angel and put him on the top…”

 

Louis relents and lugs the tree down along with the three boxes of decorations.

 

“Want me to call Uncle Ernest to help you?” He asks.

 

Beau shakes her head.

 

“Please can you just put it together for me and I can make it pretty?” She promises.

 

Louis fits the three pieces together to make the tree, fluffing out the branches before wrapping the lights around it ready for Beau to decorate.

 

“Right, go for it,” Louis sighs, plopping back on the sofa.

 

He unlocks his phone, the message window still there on the screen, cursor flashing.

 

_Hi, it’s Louis. Is this still your number?_

He feels like his heart might constrict hard enough to take his breath away. He squeezes his eyes shut and knocks back his head.

 

 _Shit_.

 

Shit, fuck, _shit_.

 

He shouldn’t have sent the message, he shouldn’t have-

 

 _Bzzt_.

 

Louis blinks his eyes open, palm tingling with the vibration of his phone. He turns on the screen; breath shallow as he lifts it to check.

 

_Still my number._

And it’s…well, it’s brief. What’s new there? He sighs.

 

_Louis: We meant it about Christmas. About you coming over._

_Harry: Beau, have you got your Dad’s phone?_

_Louis: It’s not Beau. It’s me._

_Harry: …prove it._

Louis swallows, lifting his phone and turning it to front camera, rolling his eyes as he takes a snap. He sends it right away. He doesn’t get a quick response like before. He tosses his phone beside him and watches Beau throw tinsel at the tree.

 

“Going for multi-colours this year?” He enquires mildly of the array of shades she’s chosen.

 

“It’s a rainbow tree,” she replies and Louis thinks his tongue dried up in his mouth.

 

“I see,” he croaks out, glancing over when his phone buzzes.

 

He sneaks it back into his hand.

 

_Harry: Have you been drinking?_

Louis chucks out a wet laugh. Trust Harry to think that just because he’s not angry. Well, he is a _bit_ angry but he’s also so fucking curious. He’s also secretly protective. Harry doesn’t have his own family now and once upon a time when Louis imagined Harry was his, it was easier to watch over him then but now they’re miles apart emotionally; if not in distance anymore. He gets the feeling Harry needs this, needs familiarity and a sense of home.

 

_Louis: If you count Ribena as contraband…_

The reply is slow-coming again. Louis reluctantly gets up from his chair to help Beau decorate the top half of the tree; rolling his eyes when she hands him a Santa-hat to put on for the proceedings.

 

“Can we play Christmas songs, Daddy?” She begs. “Please?”

 

“Alright, if we must,” he huffs, hanging baubles while Beau turns on the TV to switch to the music channel.

 

‘Last Christmas’ starts playing from the Christmas Countdown and Louis thinks there’s someone out there who’s trying to tell him something. Harry’s got the words of a George Michael song tattooed over the front of his ankles and why does everything remind him of Harry? He’s spent too long in painful denial of how he feels only to have it all thrown back in his face the second Harry walks into town just because his daughter thinks it’s amusing to punish him, apparently.

 

“Daddy!” Beau is tugging at his jeans as he comes-to.

 

“Yes, Love?”

 

“Can I hang this one?”

 

It’s the bauble she made herself, a picture of Harry stuck onto it and caked in glitter.

 

“Absolutely,” Louis swallows down his true feelings in the hope they’ll disappear.

 

“Do you think he’ll see it?” She asks him innocently.

 

“I’m just asking him now,” he twists his phone side to side.

 

Beau gasps.

 

“You are?!”

 

Louis purses his lips with a shrug.

 

“Might as well give him the option in case he wants to turn down the other hundred he no doubt got…”

 

His phone buzzes in his hand and he tries not to look too keen to read the message which has just delivered.

 

_Harry: So, you’re not drinking and you’re inviting me for Christmas lunch?_

_Louis: I am :)_

Fuck, he feels like he might _actually_ have a cardiac arrest. He sounds incredibly smooth and calm in his messages while standing there in his living room, every nerve ending is wild with awareness; buzzing with adrenaline that rockets around his body. _What is he doing?!_ Harry’s probably got offers from half the W.I not to mention the Medical Centre’s female population. Why on earth would Harry choose to spend Christmas with Louis when he couldn’t even muster a smile on seeing him for the first time in two years?

 

_Harry: Are you sure?_

Louis can read the silent question behind the short, simple words. _Is this some kind of game; some kind of joke?_ Louis frowns at the idea that Harry might think he’s be fucked up enough to do that. In hindsight; Louis hadn’t exactly tried very hard to find out what was going on. He hadn’t begged for Harry’s new address from the friends that would know and he hadn’t asked questions. Now his chest aches with the burgeoning knowledge that he _should_ have. Harry has been coping with a very private loss; a long-term battle, seemingly, and all without Louis’ help.

 

It almost stings that he’d shut Louis out, not trusting him enough to share that burden. And Louis has to decide, really. He has to decide if he’s going to cling onto his heartbreak and indignation or if he’s going to try harder this time to make Harry feel safe. Harry might not be attracted to him anymore, he might even have his own new partner by now (a thought that makes his heart spasm) but Louis can still be there for him in a way he hasn’t been able to for the last two years.

 

He bites his lip as he types his reply.

 

_Louis: Really sure._

_//_

“Haribo missed you!”

 

Beau presses her toy bunny into Harry’s tummy as she rushes up to him, stumbling into his legs.

 

Louis has only just slipped into the door of the coffee-shop by the time his daughter has located the sexy doctor. Off-duty apparently. His fingernails are red.

 

“Beau, come here, please,” Louis calls her firmly.

 

Beau turns and pouts while Harry's eyes shift to him, clinging a bit. His face looks a bit softer, almost like a smile wants to break out onto his lips but he’s wary to let it.

 

Beau reluctantly trudges towards Louis. Louis gets to one knee.

 

“You don’t run off like that and you don't bother people, okay?”

 

“It’s really no bother,” Harry pipes up and Louis glances up at him before looking back at his daughter.

 

“It’s polite to ask if it’s alright,” Louis reminds her gently.

 

“Daddy, can we say hi to Dr. Harry?” She obediently asks.

 

Louis stands up and takes her hand.

 

“Let’s ask him...”

 

Louis approaches Harry who’s browsing the sandwich selection.

 

“Hi.”

 

His heart leaps out of his chest and he has to catch his breath. Harry looks perfectly undone- hair skewed and fluffy and tired eyes darkened with liner. If the make up was smeared, Louis might think he’d spent the night with someone.

 

“Hi.” Harry’s voice is raspy and he looks tentatively hopeful.

 

“Dr. Harry, is it okay if we talk to you?” Beau tugs on Louis' hand to lean nearer Harry, reminding him of his parental responsibility.

 

Harry seems caught out, too, eyes dipping to the little girl with a thick swallow in his throat.

 

“Of course it Is,” he replies, eyes flicking back to Louis. “I was actually going to find a seat if you’d both like to join me?”

 

Beau grins, pressing her toy against Harry’s thigh while she turns to look at her father.

 

“It’s okay isn’t it, Daddy?”

 

Louis nods and something changes in Harry’s face. He swallows again, hands wedging into his jeans pockets.

 

“Was it you?” He asks quietly.

 

Louis doesn’t need him to elaborate.  He’s talking about the Christmas invite.

 

“It was,” Louis confirms quietly.

 

There’s so much noise in his head, he can’t get his voice loud enough to drown it out. Is Harry hopeful that they’ll be friends? Or something more than that, perhaps? Has he met anyone else in the time they’ve been apart? Anyone else who knew him as well as Louis knew him; knew how he liked to be touched?

 

“Just checking,” Harry replies, curling the soft toy into his hand that Beau is pounding against his thigh.

 

He studies the rabbit carefully, like a Doctor would, checking under his ears and listening to his heart. He goes to give Haribo back and pauses, narrowing his eyes. He lifts the toy near to his ear again.

 

“What’s that, Haribo?” He murmurs. “Hmm...oh really? You never did!” He gasps.

 

Beau giggles and lets go of Louis’ hand to crowd closer to Harry, her fingers curling into his maroon jumper that matches his nails. _Festive_ , Louis thinks.

 

“You’ve looked after him brilliantly,” Harry hands the rabbit back to Beau when she reaches for him. “He’s in perfect health.”

 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Beau wonders then, tilting her head.

 

Louis chokes.

 

“Beau,” he warns, reaching forward to guide her away just as Harry smiles down at her and murmurs;

 

“No, I don't. “

 

Louis darts his eyes upwards as he wraps his arms around his daughter to lift her up. Once he settles her in place, he stares into Harry’s lined eyes.

 

“Do you?” Harry’s asks back, and Louis isn’t sure who he’s asking but both he and Beau say “No” at the same time.

 

Beau twists to fasten her arms around Louis' neck and Louis takes it as his cue to move.

 

“Shall we um...”

 

Harry jolts as if he’s been poked.

 

“Oh. Yeah, um...do you want to tell me what you want and I’ll order it while you pick a seat?”

 

Louis wants to do a lot of things and none of them feature food and coffee or his five-year-old for that matter. Harry’s lips are an interesting shade of purple that Louis maybe needs to kiss off his mouth just to see if he can define the colour. Mulberry? Mauve? Plum?

 

Somehow, he manages to reel off his order, carrying Beau into the seated area of the coffee shop.

 

//

 

Louis watches Harry stir his drink and nibble on his toasted sandwich with empty green eyes.

 

He has several questions for the soft-haired man. He has so many things he wants to say. But Beau (singing ‘Deck The Halls’ loudly beside him) is reminder that he should keep things simple for now. Until they have a better chance to discuss what happened.

 

“What time do you want to come over on Christmas Day?”

 

“You could sleep over!” Beau stops mid-song to blurt.

 

“I-“

 

“It’s Daddy’s birthday and I’ll make you a Christmas Eve box,” she offers excitedly.

 

“Are you sure your family will be okay with me being there?” Harry asks Louis.

 

Because he knows that Louis told his Mum about him. He knows because he spoke to Jay himself and he’s probably nervous that Louis' black-listed his name among his family. Louis had only ever told his Mum and his sisters that Harry had to go away; that they had agreed to end things. He'd only lied; a lie that his heart preferred to believe. The truth was harder to bear.

 

“They’d love to meet you,” Louis broaches and Harry’s fingers still on the rim of his cup.

 

“You haven’t told them,” he surmises.

 

“Told them what?” Beau enquires nosily.

 

Louis rests a gentle hand on her back, ripping his eyes from Harry’s to engage her.

 

“I haven’t told them that Harry’s back,” he lies easily.

 

“Maybe I can come after?” Harry hedges, brushing his palms nervously over his thighs where his gaze drops to. “I’m finding it hard, still,” he whispers, voice cracking. “You know...in crowds and-“

 

Louis aches to hold him. Who had held Harry when he’d fallen apart in the months since he’d last seen him? Who had been his anchor, his rock? Had anyone?

 

“You’re welcome anytime,” Louis expresses softly.

 

Harry looks at him to test his truth.

 

“Around ten?” He offers.

 

“Just in time to put the mince pies out for Santa...” Louis sips his tea with a smirk.

 

“Christmas isn’t the same without-“ Harry pauses, swallowing hard. He hasn’t told Louis directly, but he’s told Beau. “Without Mum.”

 

_It's not the same without you, either._

Louis closes his eyes against the wistful longing surging in his chest.

 

“My family are going up to see some relatives in Yorkshire,” Louis explains. “I decided not to go so that Beau and I could have a quiet one at home,” he adds. “But if it gets too much, you can go.”

 

_Like you did before._

 

Harry licks his lips, tongue lingering in the corner where some sugar from his drink has accumulated.

 

“Thank you,” his brows draw together as he sighs (In relief? Louis isn’t certain).

 

“Dr. Harry?” Beau’s voice cuts through the moment, lightening it.

 

Harry lifts his head and pushes his fingers through his wild hair.

 

“Yes, Beau?”

 

“Do you like blue or pink better?”

 

Harry arches a curious brow.

 

“Pink, why?”

 

Beau smiles to herself.

 

“No reason...”

 

Harry looks to Louis and Louis shrugs.

 

“Don’t ask me,” he muses.

 

 

//

 

They settle in the warmth of the coffee-shop, ordering a second drink when Beau starts to get bored; both of them lingering over the last sips.

 

Beau glances at her father and then at Harry; finding their gazes locked. She knows that Santa is a very powerful man but she also knows that her father is rather silly. She doesn’t always understand why adults act silly but she knows that she’s skilled at helping. She’s already made two whole wishes come true so why not help Santa with her third wish?

 

“Have you put up your tree, Dr. Harry?” She leans against his knee with an innocent smile.

 

Harry smiles back but the edges are sad. Beau knows he misses his Mummy, she misses hers, too.

 

“No, Beau, I haven’t,” he says anyway. “There’s not much point when it’s only me and now I’m coming to yours on Christmas, so-“

 

“You _have_ to put up your tree,” she bumps into his leg to insist. “It’s Christmas.”

 

Harry turns his body to look at her.

 

“It makes me sad,” he tells her gently.

 

Beau rebounds off his leg twice more.

 

“I miss having a Mummy, too,” she shares thoughtfully. “I can make it look really pretty,” she whispers. “It might remind you of us,” she adds. “Then you won’t be sad anymore.”

 

Harry stares at her; lips pressing together to pool his dimples, but his eyes are filling with tears that he’s trying to fight off only they win out; spilling over as he bites his lip.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, rough-voiced as he stands up; ducking his face and swiping away his tears with the side of his thumb. “Maybe another day?”

 

Beau blinks at him because there’s only a few days left until Christmas, only _six_ , actually. Harry turns and rushes away, leaving her frowning.

 

“C’mere, beautiful,” Louis moves into Harry’s seat to pull Beau into his lap.

 

Beau cuddles into him with a sigh.

 

Her third wish needs a lot more work.

 

//

 

“I didn’t mean to make him sad.”

 

The drive home is quiet, but not fraught.

 

“I know, sweetheart.”

 

“Do you think he hates me?”

 

Louis feels the painful clutch in his chest, the one which had started the second Harry got up and hadn’t abated in the minutes since leaving the shop and getting in the car to drive home.

 

“I _know_ he doesn’t hate you,” Louis assures.

 

It’s almost as if he feels Harry’s pain himself. He doesn’t know how Anne died or what Harry had to go through, but any loss is the same. And it’s almost as if Louis can justify Harry’s reluctance to connect with them again. They remind him of family; of home.

 

“He might not want to come for Christmas now,” Beau pouts, folding her arms with a huff.

 

“I’m sure he will,” he soothes.

 

Because he hopes Harry _will_ still come. They’ll make it understated and comforting and they won’t talk about memories if that’s what he needs.

 

“Can you message him?” Beau looks across the console.

 

Her thick, near-auburn hair is wavy and bunches up against her coat hood. Her eyes are as sharp as Louis’, pretty lashes surrounding them. Her lips are pressed together stubbornly and Louis has battled her stubbornness more times than he’d like to remember.

 

“Let’s give him some time, Beau,” he counsels as he pulls up in the drive.

 

There’s a cold wind whipping across the drive as he leads her into the house and a glance at the sky tells him that snow clouds are beckoning. The weather forecasted snow, but he’s trying to deny it’ll happen. He has too much left to do before Christmas, yet. Gifts to buy and food to organise. And Harry. He has Harry to accommodate.

 

“Please, Daddy,” her hand slips into his as he wipes off his shoes on the mat. Her big blue eyes appeal to him. “Please.”

 

Louis kicks off his shoes untied.

 

“Alright, I’ll check he’s okay,” he concedes.

 

Beau beams and unties her laces carefully, placing her shoes beside Louis’.

 

“I’m going to see what I can put in Harry’s Christmas Eve box,” she tells him before she races up the stairs.

 

//

 

It takes two cups of tea and several chocolate digestives to work up the courage to text Harry again.

 

The first time had been an anxiety-inducing episode that Louis would happily not revisit this side of the New Year. But, well…despite Beau’s worries about Harry, Louis has his own.

 

_Louis: Sorry about today._

His hand tremors a bit until he huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes. This is stupid. He’s a grown man who can take care of a child. He shouldn’t be getting nervous over texting a guy. A pretty, guy, yes. A guy he’s kissed and felt inside him, maybe…but a guy all the same.

 

_Inside him._

Louis closes his eyes and flops back against the sofa.

 

Harry had always felt so perfect. He was big and unlike most guys, he wasn’t boastful or cocky about it. But when he fitted inside Louis like Louis was a perfectly made glove for him… _Mmm._ Louis lets his lips part as his breaths shallow. His muscles flex; petty memory of tightening around Harry’s heat. He wants that again, he wants-

 

 _Fuck_.

 

His hand falls to his lap; fingers hesitantly tracing over his jeans fly. He flicks his eyes open to check for Beau; ears straining to work out where she is in the house. He can hear her rooting around upstairs and lets his fingers trace the length of his dick; already showing signs of getting interested from his thoughts alone.

 

 _He wants Harry_.

 

He’s always wanted Harry and his heartbreak hasn’t dampened his desire, any. If anything, Louis wants him more, now. He’s incredibly beautiful and how could he have forgotten? How could the memory have faded of how his pinkie finger reaches out slightly from the others; evident when he’s sipping his drink or gesturing a story he’s telling? How could he forget the swirl in his hair at the peak, something Harry used to blow-dry out but apparently now lets roam freely in his wild style? How was it possible not to remember the tiny dig that forms above his brows when he’s thinking; or uncomfortable, or frowning, even? How could he have let those things slip away?

 

His phone buzzes and he swallows; hand cupping over himself where he’s half-hard.

 

_Harry: You have nothing to be sorry for._

_Louis: Are you okay?_

Louis waits patiently for a reply, shouting through the door and upstairs to Beau. She tells him she’s busy. He decides he’s better off not knowing and flicks on the TV.

 

_Harry: Define ‘okay’._

And _shit_. If that doesn’t kill Louis inside. His hand falls away from his dick. Desire can wait.

 

_Louis: Do you want me to come over?_

_Harry: I’m okay._

Harry’s not okay. And Louis could pull a favour with his friend, Niall and drop Beau for a couple of hours but…Harry needs space, he senses that, too. He purses his lips.

 

_Louis: Want to play ‘Words with Friends’?_

The TV chatters in the background while his heart thuds in his chest. He might have just got things completely wrong. Harry might _really_ hate him, now.

 

His phone bleeps.

 

There’s a request to play the game on his screen and he lets out a relieved breath. He selects his first word and waits for Harry to take his turn.

 

//

 

_“Oh…oh!”_

_Louis presses his torso into the bathroom counter and tries to push onto tiptoes._

_“Lou…so good,” Harry’s lips are against his neck; his voice gravelly and thick. He’s thick inside him too, thrusting hard while Louis clings onto the shiny surface; nothing to grasp as Harry grinds in relentlessly._

_His head dips, he gasps in air, his body feels about to break._

_“Mmm, perfect,” Harry’s voice rasps out as he wraps both arms around Louis’ waist and eases his dilemma of having nowhere to ground himself. Harry’s his ground now. He’s steady and hot and he’s quivering like he’s about to come._

_“Don’t pull out,” Louis whispers, eyes squeezing shut as he clenches around Harry’s heat; wanting to keep him deep._

_“Hmm?” Harry noses up his neck; hips slowing to sharp, deep pulses. “What’s that?”_

_“Inside me,” Louis begs, curling first one foot and then the other behind Harry’s ankles; handing over his control completely to the bigger man._

_“Yeah?” Harry breathes; soft, loving kisses pressed against Louis’ shoulder._

_“Please,” Louis begs, pressing his hips back against him._

_“Hmm,” Harry’s hum is more a growl this time, more feral and rough. His hand splays over Louis’ belly in possession. His hips, when they rock; twist to grind Harry’s heat right into him; the sensation making Louis gasp._

_“Oh!”_

_“Yeah,” Harry murmurs again, his hips gathering pace again._

_Louis feels Harry’s hand tighten around him; lets out a choked moan at the sensation and pleads for him to let go. He wants to see it; the concentrated frown he knows Harry gets right before he hits his pinnacle; his face smoothing out into disbelieving bliss as he gives into his orgasm and it’s addicting, that sight, but having Harry fuck into him from behind while he releases sticky and hot; that’s a far more addicting experience._

_“Oh, fuck, oh…H-Ha-”_

_Louis spurts over his hand; clenching around him at the same moment, relishing the sticky feeling of Harry’s release within him. Harry stills; hand stroking Louis to a gentle finish._

_Harry’s breaths are the first sound Louis makes out as he comes down from his high. The bathroom is glaring white with artificial light and it feels cold in there, suddenly. Harry’s arms tighten around him; pulling him against his chest._

_“Don’t want to leave you,” his words are slow and deep._

_Louis knows the feeling. Their hook-ups are far-too-often rushed and lacking in the intimacy that usually comes after mind-blowing sex._

_“I know,” he soothes._

_Harry’s lips press against his shoulder; along with a frustrated sigh._

_“You mean more to me than sex in a bathroom.”_

And Louis knew at the time those words were true. But after…when Harry had disappeared. He had doubted them then.

 

//

 

Beau is pulling at his arm the next morning, urging him awake.

 

“Daddy it’s snowing! Can I go and play in it? Can I? Please, Daddy?”

 

Louis groans and flops an arm over his eyes. The forecasts were accurate, then.

 

“You don’t need me for that do you?” He whispers.

 

Beau climbs on the bed and jumps on him.

 

“Daddy, you can help me build a snowman! #Do you want to build a snowmaaaan#” She sings perfectly, but Louis could strangle the person who made _Frozen_. If he hears ‘Let It Go’ one more time, he’s likely to break something.

 

His phone buzzes and he reaches for it, opening his eyes to smile at his daughter.

 

“Go and put your warmest clothes on,” he tells her and she cheers and climbs down carefully from the bed; an art she had learnt reluctantly after falling clumsily a few times from her retained mobility difficulties from being born with her umbilical cord around her neck.

 

It meant she was lacking oxygen and when she was a baby she’d had frightening seizures and was often hard to wake up. Louis had spent the first two years of her life in constant panic until they’d been referred to the specialist clinic where Harry worked. From the moment Harry took over her care, things had improved beyond belief.

 

Louis opens his phone screen.

 

_Harry: Do you want to build a snowman?_

Louis rolls his eyes and tosses his phone onto the bed. After five seconds of trying to control the butterflies in his tummy, he rolls over to drag it close to his chest.

 

_Louis: Are you already out in it?_

It doesn’t take long for a response.

 

_Harry: :( Snowed in. Drake’s gone to Kentucky for the holidays._

_Louis: You mean you can’t get out?_

_Harry: Barn door is stuck. Think there’s a snow-drift blocking it._

Louis yawns and sits up.

 

“Beau?”

 

“Yes, Daddy?” He hears her yell from her room.

 

“How do you feel about rescuing someone who’s snowed in?”

 

Beau’s footsteps can be heard thumping down the hall, her many-layered body appearing in his bedroom doorway. She looks disgruntled.

 

“Do we have to?”

 

Louis smiles wanly.

 

“Let me re-phrase…how do you feel about rescuing _Harry_ who’s snowed in?”

 

Beau blushes.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah, oh,” Louis arches a brow and jumps out of bed to ruffle her hair. “Want to?” He asks.

 

“Yes, please,” she whispers.

 

He smiles and goes about getting ready.

 

//

 

Louis’ car is not made for driving in the snow, he knows. Most of the roads have been driven on already, though and the track up to Drake’s farmhouse is rough under the snow so the car’s tyres get enough grip to crawl up slowly.

 

Beau is jumping about excitedly in her seat, eyes wide and breath misting the glass where she stares out at the untouched snow that runs for miles. Across the fields it looks perfect; unmarred white at every turn. Louis has to squint against the brightness of it; the car skidding to an awkward halt a few feet from the barn.

 

Louis can see a shovel propped up by the coal bunker and he hopes Harry’s upper-floor apartment has its own heat-source otherwise he could be freezing to death. He grabs the shovel and tells Beau to stay in the car. She winds down the window.

 

“Can’t I get out and start making a snowman?” She pleads.

 

“Let’s just make sure Harry’s alright, first,” he sighs.

 

A window opens above them.

 

“Hello!” Harry leans out with a wave.

 

Louis steps away from the pile of snow he’s digging out to look up.

 

“Have you got heating up there?” Louis asks.

 

“Yep. Warm and toasty,” Harry smiles.

 

He looks young again; apparently dressed in a grey jumper with a pink bandana wrapped in his hair.

 

“Hi, Harry!” Beau waves, having dropped the ‘Doctor’ from his title, Louis notes.

 

“Hi, Beau! Thank you for digging me out!”

 

“I want to build a snowman!” Beau tells him, releasing the car-door to climb out. “Do you want to build a snowman?”

 

Harry’s brows raise and he presses a hand against his chest.

 

“#Do you want to build a snowmaaan?#” He sings, making Beau gasp in delight.

 

“Daddy, we can sing Frozen together!” She runs over to hug his thigh.

 

“Oh, how wonderful,” Louis stretches a smile across his lips.

 

He hears Harry’s chuckle.

 

“I’ll get dressed for snow!” He calls, shutting his window again.

 

And Louis finishes clearing the snow drift in about five minutes; causing him to wonder if Harry really needed help at all.

 

He’s just collecting up coal pieces for the snowman’s eyes when the barn door bursts open; Harry flinging himself into the frigid air.

 

“Hi!”

 

Louis straightens from where he's bent slightly, looking through the coal heap. His eyes assess Harry closely. The over-the-top happiness signal something underlying that Louis wants to dig down to but Harry’s swallow and the hesitant slip in his smile stop him from mentioning his observation.

 

“Hi,” he smiles slowly; warmth crinkling the edges of his eyes.

 

Harry’s trussed up in a wind-breaker and mittens; fur-lined snow boots over his jeans and a fur-lined deer-stalker pulled over his hair. He actually looks beautiful and Louis wants to tackle him into the snow to make snow angels together.

 

Harry blinks, something flickering in his eyes.

 

“Hi,” he repeats more softly; deeper this time and husky.

 

“Hurry up!” Beau demands from a few feet away, petulantly.

 

“That’s not very nice, Beau!” Louis turns to tell her while Harry’s treading the few steps required to get to Louis.

 

“Thank you,” he says and his skin is flushed pink already, tongue lathing over his lower lip.

 

“Sure you’re warm enough?” Louis asks to regulate his heart-beat. He’s given up demanding his body obey his mind. Instead he ignores it completely.

 

“I put the heating on high, so we can warm up after the snow fight…”

 

“What snow fight?” Louis asks as Harry’s backing away with a grin.

 

The taller man turns with a giggle and grabs a hand full of snow; leaping through the thick of it to twist and make aim at Louis. Louis ducks but it skids across his hair.

 

“You little _shit_ ,” he whispers, pulling a knitted beanie out of his pocket to pull over his hair.

 

_This means war._

 

//

 

“Look, Daddy!”

 

Beau calls Louis just as he’s wrapping his fingers around a warm mug of tea; his slightly-damp clothing drying in the warm air of Harry’s loft apartment while their outer clothes sit nearest the heater.

 

The apartment is open-plan, kitchen and living room leading toward an alcove bedroom; tucked under a dividing bracket with exposed beams; the roof of the barn insulated somewhat roughly from what Louis can tell.

 

Beau is star-fished on Harry’s King bed, making angels in his bed-clothes.

 

“Did Harry say you could make a mess of his bed?” Louis asks with a brow-lift, turning to check Harry’s response.

 

“I did,” he confirms at the same moment Beau replies; “He did.”

 

Louis nods and wanders over.

 

“Bed-angel huh?”

 

Beau nods at him with a giggle.

 

Louis rests his cup on the side and jumps up to tickle her; rolling with her giggling form in his arms until she’s cuddling against his chest. He almost forgets Harry’s there until he pauses; eyes immediately darting about the room to find him. He’s sat in one of the old, thread-bare armchairs; typing away on a laptop.

 

“Let’s sit up and finish our warm drinks,” he suggests to his child who for once obeys him and skips happily over towards Harry; leaning against his knee.

 

“What are you doing?” She asks.

 

Harry smiles, closing his lap-top.

 

“Working,” he answers. “While you two were making a mess of my bed.”

 

Louis’ tummy turns when Harry looks up at him with his soulful eyes. It used to be the two of _them_ who made a mess of his bed. He wonders if Harry remembers it as clearly as Louis; if his skin still tingles and his body still throbs the way Louis’ does.

 

“What are you working on?” Louis asks as he wanders over more slowly; cradling his cup.

 

He gestures Beau to sit with him in one of the armchairs, but she shakes her head and stays by harry.

 

“I’m writing a paper for the Medical Journal,” he explains. “They asked me to submit a piece since I’m a specialist in my field.”

 

Louis nods, swallowing down his drink. His fingers wrap around his ankle as he rests it atop his knee.

 

“What was it like in Manchester?”

 

It’s the first question that Louis has asked about his time away. He’s only assumed Harry went home to Manchester because that’s where his Mum was based and if Anne was ill then Harry would have gone to care for her. There’s so much unsaid in the question and Harry looks lost to answer it.

 

“I went to work for the Children’s cancer ward,” his gaze drops as he leans forward to put the laptop on the coffee-table and Beau leans into his thigh some more. “It’s all they had for me at short notice.”

 

Louis takes another sip of tea.

 

“I mean…what was it _really_ like?”

 

Harry’s eyes dart to his. He nearly manages a placid smile but it comes off more as a wince.

 

“Cold,” he describes. “Lonely,” he adds carefully afterwards.

 

_Why did you go? Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?_

“We missed you,” Beau tells him, voice quiet as if sensing the delicate moment.

 

Harry smiles at her, curling his fingers around her shoulder.

 

“I missed you too, little one.”

 

“Did you miss Daddy, too?”

 

Louis tries not to recall the way Beau had blurted to Harry that he’d stopped smiling when Harry had left. It’s hard to imagine Harry had the same problem for the same reasons. His mother had been seriously ill and Louis was probably the farthest thing from his mind.

 

“I did,” Harry murmurs, leaning over to lift Beau up onto his lap easily; without hesitation or waiting for permission from Louis. “I missed you both very much.”

 

“Are we your favourite patients?”

 

Harry chucks out a laugh; eyes meeting Louis’ across the space.

 

“I think you might just be…”

 

“See, Daddy, he liked your flowers,” Beau turns to tell him.

 

Louis is trying not to lose himself in Harry’s eyes.

 

“Hm? Oh, the flowers,” he smiles. “Who doesn’t like flowers?”

 

“You’re doing that funny thing with your face again,” she wrinkles her nose.

 

“Don’t know what you mean,” he breezes, finishing his drink to stand up. “We should probably head out…”

 

“That thing,” Beau insists. “When you’re thinking about Harry. You get this funny look on your face and-“

 

Louis laughs loud and bright; clapping his hands together.

 

“Kids, eh?” He makes a manic face to cover his embarrassment. “Who knows?”

 

“ _I_ know,” Beau mumbles as she climbs down from Harry’s lap. “You look all soft and fuzzy and-“

 

“You can stay longer, if you want,” Harry stands up too, rubbing his palms together.

 

“We’ve got a lot to do,” Louis laments. “Need to do a big shop for some party food for my birthday yet…”

 

“Daddy, do we have to go shopping?” Beau whines. “It’s boooring.”

 

“Yes, we do,” he chirps, reaching for his damp coat to zip it up.

 

He helps Beau on with hers and then her gloves and hat, wrapping her scarf around her neck gently after. Finally, he turns to Harry at the bottom of the stairs. Beau hugs him around the leg until Harry stoops to hug her properly.

 

“Thank you for playing in the snow with me.”

 

“Thank you for letting me make an angel in your bed,” Beau replies.

 

Louis holds the barn door handle with his hand to stop her breaking free.

 

“I’ll see you Thursday?” He checks of their plans.

 

Harry stares at him for a long moment.

 

“Yeah. See you then.”

 

Louis nods and salutes his goodbye, ushering his daughter out into the cold.

 

//

 

_Harry: We can do coffee, if you want. Before your birthday._

Louis reads the message three times.

 

_If you want._

 

It’s Monday morning and he’s dropped Beau off at school. He has some editing work to submit but it’s holiday season so not much is coming his way. He can work from home now _and_ be a stay-at-home father for Beau whilst earning enough money to keep them stable.

 

It’s the first time Harry’s messaged him first and the fact he’s inviting him somewhere fills him with equal parts curiosity and fear. Harry really hasn’t made it clear how he feels about Louis-or about anything surrounding their separation, in fact. And Louis has been afraid to ask but this might be a chance for them to broach the subject, just the two of them without a troublesome five-year-old in the mix.

 

_Louis: When are you around?_

_Harry: All week. They just released me until the New Year, too many cancellations because of the snow & holiday._

There’s a few emoji’s following his words, the snowflake and a snowman along with a pensive face. It’s maybe that which sways Louis’ resolve.

 

_Louis: Beau’s in school until 3._

_Harry: Meet you at that place in town?_

_Louis: Got some shopping to do, give me an hour._

_Harry: See you then._

_//_

His tummy feels a bit weird.

 

He feels almost sea-sick; biting his lip and fidgeting his hands in his jacket pockets. He’s wearing the oldest thing he owns, a warm puffer jacket that Beau bought him one Christmas (via her Uncle Ernest).

 

He doesn’t know if he’s late (his shopping is stacked in the boot of his car) but he looks around and Harry’s not there, so he sighs in relief. Two secondS later his heart begins to thud in panic.

 

_What if he’s changed his mind? What if it wasn’t even him texting from his phone but one of his friends or colleagues? What if-_

“Lou?”

 

The deep voice is accompanied by a hand pressing into the small of his back. Louis opens his eyes.

 

“H-Harry,” he whispers.

 

Harry blinks, dimple pooling as he rubs his lips together.

 

“You okay?”

 

And it shouldn’t be Harry who’s asking that question. It’s not Louis who’s lost someone. He nods, not sure he has the right words.

 

“Want a drink?” Harry asks next, his hand rubbing up and down Louis’ back gently.

 

Louis blinks at him.

 

“What do you want?” Harry carries on seamlessly with a little, bemused smile that curves the corners of his lips.

 

He’s wearing a dark silver eye-shadow, flicked out and carefully applied. His eyes are dark again, his lips stained nearly red. His nails, when Louis checks, are still the red they were from before.

 

“Tea,” Louis whispers, not sure why he’s suddenly been rendered incapable of cohesive thought.

 

Harry should by right, tell him to pull himself together and find them a seat, but he doesn’t. He curves his arm around Louis’ shoulders and leads him into the shop; keeping him close. Louis remembers only too well how close Harry used to like keeping him; especially when they were spooning. He lets out a breath and focuses on his fingerless-gloved hands for something to do.

 

“So,” Harry rests a hip against the counter whilst they queue. “Got all your shopping?”

 

Louis nods his affirmation. He still has the ring to gift Harry from two years ago, but he’d purged his little sentimental heart by buying him a thick dusk pink knitted jumper that looked hideous on the hangar and Louis knew would look beautiful on the man beside him.

 

“You know, if you’ve lost your voice we could have just met another time,” Harry muses to himself, almost.

 

Louis looks up at his profile.

 

“I wanted to talk,” he manages to breathe out.

 

Harry smirks a bit, a twinkle lighting his eyes.

 

“Not much talking happening so far…”

 

Louis cuddles into him a bit; relishing the feeling. They’d never done this, never got a chance to walk around hand in hand or with their arms wrapped around each other. It feels like his whole body is ablaze with the feeling; awareness thrumming through his veins at what it might mean.

 

“Why did you leave, Harry?”

 

He doesn’t mean it to come out like that, unguarded and real. He was going to hedge around it and work up to it slowly. Harry stiffens, his arm slipping from Louis’ shoulders.

 

Louis swallows, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them quickly.

 

“I mean…not- that’s not an accusation, I’m just asking. I’m asking because I haven’t really asked yet and I’d like to know. I’d like to know what happened…I-“

 

Harry reaches for their drinks and stalks to a booth, perching on the edge of a seat with a sigh; eyes flitting about the table surface.

 

“I’m not ready to do this,” he murmurs.

 

Louis feels something pierce his chest. Disappointment or rejection, he isn’t sure which.

 

“I know your Mum was ill,” Louis ventures. “But did you get the call that night? Did you just decide our relationship wouldn’t survive you leaving?”

 

Harry’s head lifts and his eyes aren’t soft anymore. They’re dark with anger; features contorted beyond the gentleness Louis has come to know.

 

“You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” He whispers.

 

Louis frowns, offended. His heart had broken that night; the night Harry hadn’t showed up. He’s spent two years trying to forget the beautiful man who he so very clearly still loves if his pounding heart is anything to go by. And yet Harry still refuses him even a shred of an explanation as to why he didn’t try harder to make things work; to tell Louis the truth when it really mattered.

 

“I think I deserve to know _something_ ,” Louis murmurs.

 

Harry gets up with an unhumoured breath of a laugh, drink forgotten as he storms outside.

 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Louis follows him hotly; ignoring the way Harry’s ass looks in his too-tight jeans. He’s wearing his cropped leather jacket and Louis is sure it isn’t warm enough even with the thick yellow jumper underneath it. He wonders if Harry still has the lavender one he gifted him after he found it at a hipster market under London Bridge.

 

“You think you deserve something, Louis?” Harry spins then, eyes glistening with tears. “I deserve something too!” He yells. “I deserve time! I deserve time to grieve and come to terms with everything that’s happened and I thought-“

 

Louis freezes.

 

“You thought what?”

 

“I thought you understood that! I thought you were-“ He swallows, shaking his head with a bitter grimace. “Never mind. Obviously, I was wrong.”

 

Harry turns to go and Louis glares at his back.

 

“I deserve to know, Harry!” He shouts, hurt and angry. “I deserve to know _something_!”

 

Harry huffs out a derisive snort and shakes his head as he keeps walking.

 

“I deserve to know if you loved me,” Louis whispers to himself as tears fill his eyes.

 

He deserves _better._

_//_

Beau has done a lot of things for which she could get into great trouble over.

 

She once stole the school’s hamster and made him a bed in her cupboard for which she earned a week without her favourite toy. She’s also developed a knack for a sassy mouth, learning that adults don’t like to be told the glaring truth.

 

It’s her Daddy’s birthday and he’s getting very drunk with Niall while Auntie Lottie watches her. Auntie Lottie isn’t the _best_ at watching her. Beau smirks. She’s managed to steal Louis’ phone. She peers out from underneath the table-cloth which covers the dining table shoved up in the corner with the party-food plated on it.

 

Nobody knows she’s here.

 

Her Daddy had told her that Harry might not be coming for Christmas after all. When she’d asked why (after the fiftieth time) Louis had admitted they’d had a small argument and that Harry might not feel like coming over.

 

Well, Beau wasn’t about to let her third Christmas wish go up in smoke. Yes, she still had Santa to fall back on, but Harry had to _actually_ be there for it to work properly. And so she opens the phone screen and accesses the messages; finding the stream between her father and Harry easily.

 

Now. What to say? What do adults say when they are sorry? She shakes her head. Daddy’s not very good at saying sorry.

 

_Louis: Beau still wants you to come for Christmas._

There. That should do it.

 

She leans her head back against the wall and taps her feet along to the music playing; smiling at the happy laughter around her. She likes the quietness underneath the table-cloth. She likes the isolation. If Harry was here he might crawl underneath with her or pull her out, tickling her into giggles.

 

_Harry: It’s not fair to use Beau to blackmail me into coming._

Beau presses her lips together. She doesn’t know what _blackmail_ means.

 

_Louis: I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t mean a lot to her._

_Harry: Are you asking?_

_Louis: Please would you still come for Christmas?_

_Harry: For Beau?_

Beau swallows. Santa didn’t become an expert at granting wishes by being shy. He’s bold and Beau knows she needs to be, too.

 

_Louis: For both of us._

It might change Harry’s mind in the wrong direction, might make him even madder than before but her father misses him and she knows he’s scared to say. So, someone has to.

 

She carefully deletes the messages she’s sent and locks the phone, crawling out from under the table.

 

“Where’s me phone?” Louis’ calling loudly; his accent thicker because of the drink.

 

Beau holds it up with a brilliant smile.

 

“I found it under the table!”

 

“Thank you, beautiful,” Louis sweeps her into a hug; cuddling her tightly with a deep breath into his lungs which he lets out slowly as she clings to him. “I love you.”

 

“Love you, too, Daddy,” Beau kisses his cheek and hands him the phone when he puts her down.

 

Louis checks his messages and his lashes flicker and for one second, Beau panics that maybe Harry replied again. But when Louis reaches for another glass, she knows he hasn’t. She doesn’t want to see her father’s heart breaking all over again.

 

“I’ve got Harry’s box ready,” She tells him.

 

And Louis nods. _That’s right._ Harry’s supposed to be coming at ten, in another five hours. Louis might be unconscious by then if things work out well.

 

“You should drink water now, Daddy,” she tells him.

 

Louis rolls his eyes and knocks back the rest of his wine.

 

“Of course, sweetheart,” he answers, then stumbles away.

 

//

 

The knock comes at ten fifteen.

 

Beau’s opened her box already and is wearing her reindeer pyjamas with a matching fleece robe. Louis is awake on the sofa, but his head doesn’t turn towards the door.

 

“Can I answer it?” Beau askes.

 

Louis flutters his hand; eyes glued to the News programme playing on the TV.

 

Beau throws open the front door with a smile.

 

Harry’s too tall, she has to tilt her head back to see.

 

“You’re late,” she says.

 

Harry nods, breath pluming out in the cold air.

 

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Had to make a last-minute stop for your present,” he lifts his elbow to evidence the strangely-shaped gift; wrapped in gold paper with a bow.

 

“Did you bring a gift for Daddy?” She checks warily before letting him in.

 

“Indeed, I did,” Harry lifts the second parcel that’s tucked under his arm.

 

“Okay, you can come in,” she decides. “Daddy!” She screams as Harry steps into the hallway.

 

“Do you have to shout, Beau?” Louis sighs as he glances over the back of the sofa, shivering as the cold sweep of air is let in.

 

He sits up a bit as a long, lean form hustles in behind his daughter.

 

“I’m here for Beau,” Harry states only.

 

Louis’ fingers go to tidy his hair. He’s wearing his tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie; his scruff unshaved for three days now and his hair the kind of wild mess that Harry’s usually is. He wonders if he still smells of the alcohol he’s consumed. He wishes he’d consumed more. If Ernest could have taken Beau for the evening, he might have.

 

“Come in,” he gestures for the pair of them to take a seat while he stands up with a shaky feeling.

 

Harry places his gifts carefully under the tree.

 

“Come and open your Christmas Eve box!” Beau tugs his hand.

 

Harry unbuttons his coat and hangs it up, unzipping his boots to settle them beside Louis’ and Beau’s. He’s wearing a blindingly colourful jumper, threaded with every colour under the sun; his hair tucked into a little black cap that matches his tight jeans.

 

“Do you want something to drink?” Louis asks as Beau leads him to the hearth of the non-existent fire where she’s laid their boxes side by side. Hers is rifled-through now, socks hanging off the edge and sweets sitting messily opened inside.

 

“What’s the strongest you’ve got?” Harry asks back and Louis feels the words jab him in the centre of his chest. _He shouldn’t feel guilty for asking._ He shouldn’t feel _bad_ for wanting to know.

 

“Whiskey?”

 

“No ice,” Harry replies, kneeling in front of his box.

 

“Open it,” Beau tells him, leaning on his back to peek over his shoulder.

 

Harry lifts the lid on the box, resting it gently against the fireplace wall, his eyes scanning over the contents of the box.

 

He pulls out a pair of soft, pink socks and smiles, reaching back over his shoulder to smooch them into Beau’s face.

 

“Who told you that I like pink?”

 

“You did,” she reminds him.

 

“Oops, never mind,” Harry murmurs to himself, picking up the marshmallows and instant hot-chocolate.

 

“We can have them later,” Beau tells him.

 

“We can,” he hums.

 

There’s ‘reindeer food’ in a small plastic bag in the bottom which he suspects Louis helped with and there’s a folded-up pair of cotton pyjamas which his hand stills on.

 

“I found them in Daddy’s drawer,” Beau’s telling him as he lifts the familiar plain white cotton top and grey marl pyjama bottoms.

 

Harry’s heart is caught in his throat.

 

“B-Beau…”

 

Louis swishes into the room with two neat whiskeys.

 

“What’s in the box?” Louis asks, blindly.

 

Harry lifts the pyjama top and trousers with regret shadowing his eyes. Louis almost loses his grip on the glasses in his hands, quickly resting them on the table safely. The last time he’d seen those pyjamas had been when Harry had _worn_ them. It was the only time they’d ever been able to plan a whole night together and it was when Beau had a sleepover at one of her friend’s houses and Louis had asked Harry to come over. And Harry had come. In more ways than one.

 

“Beau, have you been through my drawers?” Louis asks when he’s regained his breath.

 

“I think I should go,” Harry stands up.

 

“Why?” Beau asks, frowning.

 

“Beau, I asked you a question,” Louis repeats himself slowly.

 

“You said it was okay for me to get your pyjamas,” Beau answers him, side-stepping when Harry tries to move past the little girl. “You can’t go,” she tells the other man.

 

Louis shoves his fingers into his hair, his stomach lurching in his throat. _It’s supposed to be a good day, it’s his birthday for fuck’s sake!_

 

“I said you could get pyjamas for _yourself_ ,” Louis replies, reaching for her hand to tug her out of Harry’s way.

 

Harry stares at him.

 

“You kept them.” He accuses.

 

And Louis stares back. Because if Harry wants another fight then he’ll give him one.

 

“Yeah, I did,” he arches a brow.

 

“They’re Harry’s?” Beau whispers, looking between the two adults with her mouth agape.

 

“Y-you…” Harry’s face flushes and his eyes darken. “Why would you-?”

 

“Why?” Louis repeats, tone sharpening. “Let me see…”

 

“Daddy,” Beau pulls at her hand and Louis lets go, sighing as he watches his little girl run up the stairs.

 

“Fuck,” Louis moves to go after her, his wrist circled by warm fingers.

 

He can feel Harry’s laboured breathing more than see it. Harry swallows.

 

“Why?”

 

Louis twists to face him. There’s no point lying. He doesn’t even have the energy to deny it anymore. Harry’s already angry at him for even a _sking a_ bout Manchester so admitting how he felt (how he _feels_ ) won’t change anything now.

 

“Because I missed you,” he grits the words out tightly, fighting down the smarting pain in his chest that flares at the thought of losing Harry again. But it’s Harry who’s clinging on. Louis isn’t the one stopping _him_ from bolting.

 

Harry’s lips rub together; he looks like he wants to yell really loud.

 

“You-“ he whispers, a stark contrast to his flushed face.

 

“Yeah, is that wrong, too?” Louis wonders lightly. “Like wanting to know what happened is wrong? Like wanting-“ He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He wants too much.

 

“You kept my clothes?”

 

It’s softer this time, deep and almost awed.

 

Louis nods his head, biting his lip.

 

“I like to sleep in them.”

 

“ _Like_ to?” Harry looks up; eyes desolate.

 

“Yeah,” Louis chucks out a wet laugh. “Fucking go figure. You stood me up and messaged me to say you weren’t coming back and I-I still wanted to feel close to you. I still _want_ to feel close to you,” Louis whispers the last part, afraid of Harry’s reaction.

 

Harry’s begun to shake, fingers tightening around Louis’ wrist painfully until he lets go completely, lips parting in shocked silence at gripping too hard.

 

“I’m sorry,” he looks to Louis to make sure it’s heard.

 

“What for?” Louis arches a brow.

 

Harry swallows.

 

“For leaving,” he manages on a thick throat.

 

Louis lets out a breath. He steps closer; wanting to stop the tremor in Harry’s hands.

 

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Louis promises.

 

Harry looks at him with a pained furrow in his brow.

 

“You were right, actually,” he whispers. “You deserve to know. Only it hurts so much to say the words…”

 

Louis steps closer again; afraid to hold him, afraid to touch. He reaches for his hand.

 

“Let’s just get Beau down and finish tonight?” Louis suggests. “We can talk another time, when it doesn’t hurt so much.”

 

Harry stares at him and Louis wonders why until he speaks.

 

“I accused you of not giving me time and now you’re giving it to me?”

 

Louis nods.

 

“I’m not going to be that guy again, Harry.”

 

“What guy?” He fidgets, shuffling closer.

 

“The guy you can’t call,” Louis explains. “The guy you feel you can’t rely on. I want to be here for you. No matter what…”

 

Harry nods, biting down on his lip hard as his throat aches with unshed tears. Louis knows there’s so much more to say but tonight he has his daughter to prioritise.

 

“Can I be the one to get Beau?” Harry asks him.

 

Louis nods, taking a step back. Harry reluctantly lets go of his hand and moves towards the stairs, turning at the bottom step.

 

“That guy you want to be?” He broaches as he pauses. “You’re already that guy, by the way,” Harry tells him.

 

Louis runs his fingers into his hair as Harry climbs the steps.

 

//

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Beau is laid on her back with her arms crossed, a pout on her lips.

 

Harry sits on the edge of her bed, opting for caution.

 

“Tell you what, Beau?”

 

“That you had a sleep-over!” Beau accuses angrily. “I could have come!”

 

Harry lets out a breath of relief.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You make my Daddy smile,” she turns to tell him, arms unfolding.

 

Harry reaches over the covers to cup his hand over hers.

 

“He makes me smile, too.”

 

Beau studies him.

 

“Do you like my Daddy?”

 

She knows the answer, but he needs to pass her test.

 

“I um…I think I might love him, actually,” Harry smiles at her sadly.

 

She blinks. Because Santa really _does_ grant wishes.

 

“And Daddy loves you, so-“

 

“Wait,” Harry tilts his head with a smile. “Who told you that?”

 

Beau rolls her eyes.

 

“As if I need to be _told_ ,” she smarts.

 

Harry swallows, standing up as she gets off the bed.

 

“Beau…don’t say anything to your Dad,” he pleads as they head for the bedroom door.

 

“I won’t say a word,” she zips her mouth and throws away the invisible key.

 

//

 

Louis tucks Beau in bed at midnight and escorts Harry to his room when they’ve finished singing her a Christmas song (O Holy Night, she must have a death wish).

 

Harry hovers at his door; turning to Louis with a pensive frown.

 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

 

Louis licks his lips.

 

“It’s okay. Let’s get some sleep. Wake up early, nice and fresh…whole new day?”

 

Harry nods a bit and he moves as if to close Louis into a hug but then he steps away and swings around at the last second.

 

“Goodnight, Lou.”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

//

 

Louis feels marginally hungover.

 

Most of his alcohol consumption has thankfully worn off but Louis trudges down the stairs to set the oven for the turkey with a tired yawn and damp hair; his dressing gown wrapped around his freshly-showered body.

 

It’s already warm downstairs and when he checks the thermostat he can see the heating has been turned up.

 

“Beau?” He calls as he wanders towards the kitchen.

 

“Wrong,” Harry’s voice bounds back. “It’s Santa!”

 

He’s got Louis’ Santa apron on and a red and white hat. It matches the red of his nails and the thick knitted cream jumper he’s pulled on over his grey lounge pants. Louis’ body starts to react to those trousers; memories flooding him of the morning after his overnight stay.

 

Harry had fucked him twice that night; once when he’d got there; kissing Louis the second he opened the door and pressing him up against the hallway wall; and again, in the early hours when they’d woken to soft; loving kisses and slow, sweet sex.

 

He’s missed him. In so many ways he can’t begin to count.

 

“Santa!” Louis picks up the comedic theme of Harry’s greeting. “I didn’t mean to catch you in the middle of your delivery!”

 

Harry smiles at him.

 

“Where’s your bow?”

 

Louis frowns, confused.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Well, aren’t you a gift?” Harry asks. “Shouldn’t you have a bow?”

 

Louis rolls his eyes.

 

“If this is some kind of-“

 

Harry walks up to him and swallows.

 

“I remember what it’s like to unwrap you.”

 

Louis’ breath stutters; his heart jumps into his throat. Harry’s fingers curl around his wrist slowly, his thumb brushing his pulse point.

 

“I mean…how could I forget?”

 

Louis lifts his chin to stare into mesmerising green eyes; stunned by Harry’s admission. These last two weeks he’s always wondered…

 

“Was there anyone else back home?”

 

Harry shakes his head, throat bobbing.

 

“You?”

 

Louis shakes his head, too and he thinks Harry smiles painfully.

 

“Lou, I-“

 

“Santa!” Beau’s high-pitched scream jolts them both; forcing Louis to break their contact.

 

“Whoa, kiddo,” he grins as he twists to swoop down and pick her up.

 

“Happy Christmas, Daddy!” She yells with a giggle.

 

“Happy Christmas, Beau,” he kisses her on the lips before placing her feet back to the floor.

 

“Happy Christmas, Santa Harry,” she smiles at him shyly.

 

Harry bends to hug her.

 

“Happy Christmas, Beau.”

 

“So, you should stay,” Beau says as Harry pulls away.

 

Louis is busy setting the coffee machine when he glances over.

 

“What are you up to now?” He wonders.

 

“Nothing,” Beau smiles. “It’s just that there’s no point in Harry going home to a house on his own,” she reasons. “Not when he can spend the whole holiday with us.”

 

Louis sets the machine to heat and opens the fridge door.

 

“What do you fancy for breakfast?”

 

“Oh, I put some sausages in the oven,” Harry explains. “Was going to cook some eggs when you both woke up…”

 

“Yes!” Beau fists her hand and pulls it downwards in victory. “Proper food!”

 

“Hey,” Louis pouts, leaning back against the counter. “I make proper food…”

 

“Cheese on toast is not proper food, Dad,” Beau rolls her eyes.

 

Louis blushes a bit at the accusation.

 

“Well, I try…it’s hard you know…”

 

“Go and get dressed,” Harry tells him softly. “I’ve got things covered here for a few minutes.”

 

Louis sees another man in him, almost. A grown man, a domestic one, too. If he had imagined Harry’s abandonment was due to his age or inability to commit, then the idea would have been put to rest. Harry likes being included in their circle. He likes their home life. But can Louis trust him not to up and leave them again? Because this time, Beau is already more than a patient. She’s already aware of their dynamic even though they've tried their best to hide it.

 

“Behave,” Louis tells his daughter as he passes by her.

 

//

 

“Daddy?”

 

Beau pokes her head around the kitchen/living room dividing wall.

 

“Hmm?” Louis distractedly answers, checking the potatoes.

 

At eleven Beau took Harry to the tree to give him her present. She told him she wanted to give it to him in private and asked Louis to stay in the kitchen.

 

Harry had already done the bulk of the work for lunch, so Louis only had to keep an eye on things, but there’s a lot going on.

 

“Daddy, can you come?” Beau asks.

 

Louis looks up, turning the oven down and sliding the potato pan back in.

 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

 

Beau bites her lip.

 

“I’m going to make a milkshake,” she says and Louis watches her walk into the kitchen and glances at the living room.

 

“Is Harry-?”

 

He hears a sob over the Christmas hymns on the radio and he quickly unties his apron; striding through into the other room.

 

Beau bought Harry a pink blanket that matches one that she bought for Louis just last year. Harry’s clutching the soft knitted material to his chest, curling forward with the pain of his tears as Louis walks into the room. He doesn’t know what else to do except comfort him, so he gets to his tiptoes to wrap his arms completely around Harry’s body; pulling him firmly against his chest.

 

“It’s okay,” Louis combs through his hair with gentle fingers. “I’m here, now.”

 

Harry chokes and curls up against him; forcing Louis to stagger back with his weight; a smile ghosting his lips. If Harry wasn’t falling apart he’d find it amusing how he was nearly toppling him over. He steadies himself; hand gentle against Harry’s hair.

 

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, lips pressing against the smooth strands much like he does with Beau when he’s rocking her to sleep. “It’s okay.”

 

Harry’s sobs are painful to listen to; the way his body shudders and jerks makes Louis wish he could spin the world in reverse to bring Anne back. He still doesn’t know the story; but he doesn’t need to. Harry’s hurting and he was right, he needs time to grieve. Louis wants to give him that and so much more. He wants to give Harry his heart again; he wants to start over.

 

It takes a while for Harry to cry it out.

 

Beau curls up in the armchair with her milkshake and Louis’ laptop, slipping her headphones on to watch a movie. Louis coaxes Harry onto the sofa and lets Harry curl into his side with soft, hiccupping sniffles and his arms looped around Louis’ neck.

 

“I should probably rescue the turkey,” Louis whispers; fingers threaded deep into Harry’s hair.

 

Harry noses into his throat.

 

“Don’t go, Lou.”

 

“You want burnt turkey?” He muses.

 

Harry clings to him.

 

“Hey, Beau,” Louis lifts his chin to call his daughter.

 

“Yes, Dad?”

 

“Can you turn off the switches on the cooker for me?” He asks.

 

Beau’s eyes go over them both, but she nods and gets up to do as she’s asked.

 

“Can I go to my room?” She asks when she comes back.

 

Harry’s arm moves away from Louis’ body and opens up, his head tilting.

 

“I’m waiting for my hug,” he says in a tear-strained voice.

 

Beau blinks at him.

 

“But I made you cry again.”

 

Harry shakes his head, fresh tears running hotly down his cheeks.

 

“I’m so happy to have you as my friend,” he promises.

 

Beau moves forward slowly, glancing at Louis. He smiles and pats his knee for her to climb up onto. She crawls into the space between his thighs and curls under Harry’s arm, settling against Louis’ chest. Louis sighs out in relief.

 

“Right, late lunch okay with everyone?”

 

Beau giggles and he relaxes back.

 

//

 

“You can put your blanket in your room,” Beau tells Harry as they curl up on the sofa after late lunch to open the rest of the presents.

 

Harry’s bought her a toy puppy that she instantly falls in love with, hugging Harry hard. His gift to Louis is more personal; a pale blue jumper that doesn’t so much match his eyes as compliment them perfectly. When Louis hands Harry his gift-bag Harry smiles up at him hesitantly.

 

“What?”

 

Louis merely arches a brow while Harry unwraps the dusk pink jumper Louis bought for him; amused that they’ve both bought each other the same thing.

 

“Thank you,” Harry leans across to kiss his cheek without thinking; pausing awkwardly and then shifting back to ball up his wrapping paper; tossing it into the black bag in the centre of the room.

 

“Pink and blue,” Beau smirks. “Just like your blankets…”

 

Louis tries to tame his smile but he can’t; his eyes narrow happily at the suggestion.

 

“Alright, Beau, thank you for that,” he ruffles her hair.

 

“Can I go and put Puppy with Haribo?” She asks.

 

“I guess that would be okay,” Louis grants, sliding off the sofa to crawl under the tree; backing out with a huff; tidying the tinsel from his hair.

 

Harry’s eyes slide from his backside to his face innocently.

 

“Hi.”

 

Louis feels something swirl darkly into his tummy but he shuffles over to the sofa again; plopping himself beside Harry. Harry’s long fingers glide into his hair; drawing out some glitter and tinsel strands gently with a smirk.

 

“Can’t wait to get you back under that tree…”

 

Louis feels his cheeks flush; lips quirking.

 

“I got you another gift.”

 

Harry pauses, brows furrowing bemusedly.

 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

 

“It’s actually from two years ago,” he manages to force the words out of his tight throat.

 

“Oh,” Harry frowns, glancing at him curiously. “I’m surprised you didn’t bin it.”

 

Louis looks at him.

 

“It meant too much to me,” he shares quietly.

 

Harry swallows, eyeing the small square box. Louis passes it to him. Harry flips it open; eyes falling on the deep red ruby sovereign; a big square jewel set into a thick band.

 

“Fuck.”

 

Louis watches him take it from the casing delicately.

 

“Always knew you liked red,” he murmurs. “You like pink now, but-“

 

“I love it,” Harry’s eyes dart to his in assurance. “Louis… I love it.”

 

Louis gulps.

 

“It was going to be a promise, of sorts. Not a proposal, exactly, but-“

 

Harry stares at him.

 

“A promise ring?”

 

“I didn’t want us to be, you know, a forbidden _thing_ ,” he shrugs, awkwardly trying to explain. “I wanted you to know that I was in it, that I wanted to be in it forever if you-“ Louis swallows. “If you wanted it too. Which you didn’t, and I get it, I do.”

 

Harry shakes his head, slipping the ring onto the tip of his thumb so he can cup Louis’ face.

 

“You don’t know how much I wanted that, too.”

 

 _Wanted._ Louis’ heart rabbits, panicked in his chest.

 

“ _Want_ it,” Harry adds, knowingly, gaze dipped to Louis’ thighs only to lift again earnestly. “I _want_ it. I promise.”

 

“Do you want to try again?” Louis asks, sucking in air.

 

Harry nods, moving the ring onto his finger properly.

 

“If you’ll forgive me,” he murmurs.

 

Louis rubs a thumb over the ruby reverently.

 

“I was angry for too long,” Louis sighs, cupping his cheek. “You had your reasons.”

 

“I’ll tell you everything,” Harry rushes, leaning forward. “I promise, I’ll tell you the whole story…”

 

“Two promises in one night,” he teases, eyes dipping to Harry’s lips. “Steady there, Doctor…”

 

Harry’s lips press into his sweetly; sucking at his softly. It’s tender and real and Louis feels his chest ache with longing.

 

He doesn’t realise what’s happening until they’re upright; Harry’s arms looped around his waist, his lips slanting to kiss him deeper; an almost-pained moan ripped from his throat. Harry hauls him closer; Louis’ small body slotting into his hold as easily as puzzle pieces fit. They’ve always been perfect for each other, the perfect size and shape to compliment the other. Louis wants to kiss Harry every night and fight with him always if it means he gets to call him his.

 

“Finally.”

 

The voice is sassy, and it’s accompanied by an arm-folded little girl.

 

“Shit,” Louis breaks from the kiss with a guilty press of the back of his hand to his lips.

 

Harry rests his forehead against Louis’ shoulder; arms tightening in reluctance to let him go.

 

“Did you let me go upstairs just so you could kiss?” Beau asks with a frown.

 

Louis clears his throat of the desired husk that’s crept in there.

 

“Don’t start getting sassy with me, young lady. Harry and I are just…h-having a hug,” Louis pats Harry’s back as Harry snorts into his neck. “ _Thanks for the help_ ,” he mutters accusingly.

 

Harry eventually pulls away; threading his fingers with Louis’ as he faces Beau with twisted lips, a guilty flush to his cheeks.

 

“Beau, I’m sorry. I wanted to kiss your Dad.”

 

Beau arches a brow.

 

“You two are so silly.”

 

“But,” Harry steps forward, biting his lip. “We would never push you away, okay. I promise you that this time was a one-off, completely spontaneous and-“

 

“I don’t even know what that means,” she cuts over him, flopping her arms down with a huff. “And anyway, I’m waiting for my hot chocolate.”

 

“Oh!” Harry twists to smile at Louis. “It’s hot chocolate time, did you know?”

 

“I didn’t know,” Louis feigns ignorance. “Nobody told me…”

 

“I should um, I should get to it,” Harry pinches his lower lip between thumb and forefinger, sliding a look to Louis who hasn’t let go of his hand as he tugs it away.

 

“Oh, of course,” Louis relents his grip with a wan smile. “You have to um…go.”

 

“You two are such losers,” Beau mutters as she stomps into the kitchen.

 

“No need for name-calling!” Louis yells as he follows them. “I remember you telling me how cool Harry was just last week…”

 

“I remember you looking all fuzzy over him, too,” Beau bites back with a smart smile of her own.

 

Louis blinks coolly at his little girl.

 

“Did not.”

 

“Did, too,” she sticks out her tongue as Harry sets milk on the hob to heat.

 

“Okay, well what about me?” He turns to ask. “How do I look at Louis?”

 

Beau climbs onto a chair.

 

“Look at him, then,” she instructs, cupping her chin thoughtfully as Harry turns his gaze toward the shorter man, his lips pulling into a lazy grin.

 

“You don’t want to know,” Beau climbs down to pat his thigh in consolation.

 

Louis laughs at her humour and bends down to pick her up, pressing a wet kiss to her cheek.

 

“I love you,” he tells her honestly.

 

“Love you too,” she mumbles back from under messy hair.

 

He turns away from Harry a bit; who’s at the stove, wandering around the kitchen table.

 

“Are you alright with Harry having sleepovers?” He asks softly.

 

Beau nods.

 

“And is it okay if I kiss him, sometimes?”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Beau purses her lips.

 

“Do I get to hug him too?” She wonders.

 

Louis kisses her cheek again.

 

“Of course. If you want to.”

 

“Will he still be my Doctor?”

 

Louis twists, glancing back at Harry who gives him a sad smile and a shake of his head.

 

“He’ll be your friend,” Louis promises. “Isn’t that better?”

 

Beau’s face lights up.

 

“The bestest.”

 

“Chocolate is ready!” Harry pours the drinks and mixes them carefully, bringing them to the table.

 

“So, I’m staying the night?” His socked foot brushes Louis’ with a secret smile.

 

“If you want to,” Louis offers quietly.

 

“Hey,” Harry’s fingers skim his wrist. “Only if it’s okay with you.”

 

Louis sips his drink and glances at Beau.

 

“Well, Beau did invite you for the whole week,” he muses.

 

Harry bites his lip in wanting to kiss Louis again; in wanting to curl him close some more.

 

“I might just take you up on it,” he teases.

 

Louis wouldn’t mind if he never left.

 

//

 

“What made you come back?” Louis wonders; hours later, fingertips drawing patterns along the thin stretch of skin that’s bared between Harry’s waistband and where his hoodie has rucked up in bed.

 

Harry had hovered by his door when it came time to say goodnight and they’d stumbled into a longing kiss. Louis had led Harry into the room and Harry had pushed him on the bed, but they’d just laid there; listening to each other breathe among the long-distance carollers and party-dwellers whooping down the streets.

 

“You,” Harry replies honestly, voice deep with tiredness. “And Beau.”

 

Louis kisses his chest; over his jumper.

 

“I mean it,” Harry says. “The day I came to town and met a bright-eyed girl named Beau, I knew this was home for me. When she started telling me about her single-parent father I felt sorry for the guy and started baking him cupcakes and sending them home with her and then this one morning this stunningly beautiful man burst into my office and-“

 

“Shut up,” Louis blushes, planting a hand over Harry’s mouth.

 

Harry wrestles his hand away.

 

“I wasn’t expecting perfection to stride into my office,” Harry insists. “And there you were, all small and fuckable.”

 

Louis snorts, curling into his side. Harry’s arm folds around his shoulders to keep him there. He kisses into Louis’ hair.

 

“And then I fell in love.”

 

Louis swallows.

 

“Me too.”

 

“So, then I got to fuck the guy I was in love with.”

 

Harry’s voice has slowed down and Louis knows he’s thinking of what to say. The year they spent fucking and in love had been the best year of Louis’ life, no matter how hard it was for them to snatch time away and spend it together; Harry was like a magnet he couldn’t resist. And he still couldn’t, after all this time.

 

“And well…that night you invited me over?” He breathes, hand tightening gently around Louis’ arm to keep him there. “That was the first time you’d ever asked me to spend time with you as a family,” he recalled. “With Beau as something other than her Doctor.”

 

Louis shifted; propping on his elbow to look Harry in the face. Harry’s arm slipped from his shoulders; hand splaying on his back. The fingers that had been around his wrist now threaded through Louis’.

 

“I did get a call that night,” Harry murmurs. “From my Uncle. He’d been to the hospital meeting with my Mum and they’d delivered bad news. I went home straight away; I didn’t even get time to pack or-“

 

 _Call_.

 

Louis nods, pressing his lips to Harry’s forehead tenderly in reassurance of his support; of his forgiveness.

 

“She was in tears when I got there and it took me two days to get my head into any kind of place where I could even _begin_ to think straight. That’s when I messaged you. I knew I wouldn’t cope if I called and heard your voice…I knew you’d be able to convince me that we’d work something out. She needed me, Lou,” his eyes dart to Louis’ beseechingly. “I had to cut off from everything.”

 

“I know,” Louis trails his knuckles gently over Harry’s cheek. “It’s okay.”

 

“I just couldn’t-“ Harry hiccups painfully; tears breaching his eyes. “I spent two years watching her die. How could I put anyone else through that…you?” He questions. “And Beau?” He whispers her name, eyes flaring in distress. “She’s so young and-“

 

Louis kisses him, just chastely on the lips. He hadn’t even considered that Harry had thought about Beau in making his decision to leave; to cut ties.

 

“I wish you had kept in touch,” Louis tells him softly.

 

“She died in August, when the trees were turning. I remember the funeral because it looked so damn beautiful and the leaves fell like my tears that day; heavy and wet.”

 

Louis smoothes his lips over Harry’s brow feather-light.

 

“I’m so sorry, Harry.”

 

“She liked you,” He manages on a tear-ravaged voice. “I showed her the pictures I had taken of you and told her all about you and Beau and she wanted to meet you both but I had to lie and tell her we’d fallen out. She would have been so disappointed to know the truth…that I didn’t have the courage to fight.”

 

“Shh,” Louis pulls Harry gently closer to cradle him against his chest again. “She could never be disappointed in you. You did what you had to do at the time.”

 

“I lied, Lou,” he whispers desperately, sniffling. “I didn’t fall out of love.”

 

“Neither did I, Harry,” he promises quietly. “Baby, neither did I.”

 

“She liked you,” he repeats, breaking down into sobs. “And I didn’t let her meet you.”

 

Louis holds him tightly until all his tears are gone.

 

“She met me in a picture and in your words,” Louis soothes as Harry clutches him close. “That’s enough.”

 

“I want to meet your Mum, too,” Harry says.

 

Louis smiles.

 

“I’ve told her a lot about you, too,” he muses.

 

“You didn’t tell her that I hurt you,” he remembers from Louis’ planned birthday party.

 

Louis lets out a sigh.

 

“I should have done more to find you,” he laments. “I know you told me it was over, but I could have tried harder, too. I could have fought,” he chooses Harry’s words to put his point across.

 

Harry swallows, settling against Louis a bit, fingertips tracing over his chest.

 

“And I was heartbroken,” Louis admits soulfully. “But part of me feared the truth…that if I found you and you rejected me…that I might never get over it. It was easier to be hurt and believe you’d left.”

 

“If you’d found me, the truth would have been that I was so fucking scared, Louis,” Harry tells him now, eyes and nose edged red. “My Mum was dying and I didn’t know what to do.”

 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Louis cups his cheek again. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

 

“I came back because I knew I was a fucking coward,” that anger is back on Harry’s face, contorting it. “If I couldn’t tell my Mum the truth then I had to find you to honour her death by doing right.”

 

Louis smiles, hand stroking up and down his arm soothingly.

 

“Well, you found me…”

 

“Actually, Beau helped,” Harry smiles wryly.

 

“She asked to meet you,” Louis relays.

 

“When I saw you there in the hallway…”

 

Louis swallows, remembering the moment clearly.

 

“You looked incredible,” Louis shares.

 

“I felt like the worst kind of person,” Harry admitted. “I’d betrayed you and myself and I couldn’t believe you were letting me back in…”

 

“Beau told me,” Louis admits gently. “About your Mum. I sort of figured that-“

 

“That I was an asshole?” Harry cuts in.

 

“You weren’t yourself,” Louis reasons. “We didn’t have the most stable of relationships, it wasn’t like I was your boyfriend and we were out to all of your friends and family.”

 

“Want you to be,” Harry pleads breathily, pressing Louis’ palm to his lips. “Lou, please be mine?”

 

“I never stopped being yours,” he smirks.

 

Harry rolls over a bit to kiss him; lips hot and wet with tears.

 

“Do you mind my make-up?” He asks then.

 

Louis gives him a bemused smile.

 

“Does it look like I mind it?”

 

Harry purses his lips, long legs settling either side of one of Louis’.

 

“You hadn’t said either way…”

 

Louis blinks, thumbing his cheek.

 

“That purple lipstick you wore?”

 

“Hmm…”

 

“You can wear that again if you want,” Louis smiles and Harry’s lips part in a happy grin right before he kisses him quiet.

 

“I mean it, Lou,” he whispers. “I want to try again and this time I promise I won’t walk out.”

 

“If we’re making new promises then I promise to come fetch you if you do,” he bargains.

 

Harry kisses him for a long time after that.

 

//

 

“Dear Santa…”

 

It’s gone midnight on Christmas Day and Beau can hear her father’s and Harry’s voices while they talk quietly in bed; trying to pretend they aren’t sleeping over in the same room. Beau knows they’ll continue to pretend not to be doing things for a long time yet. She’s only five and adults won’t consider her a grown up until she’s at least twenty-one.

 

She’s too tired to write, yawning largely with a raspy sigh so she decides to give Santa her thank you letter out loud.

 

“Dear Santa…

 

You almost ruined it. They nearly had a fight and I was about to come and complain but then everything went okay again and-I think my third wish came true. Or is _coming_ true. At least I hope it is.

 

Thank you for everything you did to help… although I have to say I think I did a marvellous job all on my own and actually, I have a toy puppy now, so I think you should send me a baby brother or sister instead. That’s what I want next year.

 

Rest up for next year now, big guy.

 

All the love, Beau.”

 

Beau closes her eyes and feels the magic of the holiday season drape around her; the rustling under her pillow signalling the safe keeping of her letter.

 

She doesn’t need it now, she has everything she’s ever wanted.

 

//

 

_Dear Santa,_

_I know you're very busy and you have lots of toys to make but I wondered if this year I could ask for something else. I changed my mind about the puppy and I'd like to ask if you can help me instead._

_I used to have a really cool Doctor; possibly the coolest doctor ever and then he went away only he's back and he helped me feel better and I'd really, really like it if I could say hi to him again. That’s my first wish._

_Since that’s just a little wish I’d also like to ask for Harry to come to our house for Christmas. He’ll be all alone and nobody should be alone at Christmas so if you can help me with that, I’d really appreciate it._

_Also, I have a third, secret wish. My Dad is the best Dad ever and Harry’s really cool so maybe they should get married? What do you think? That way I get to see Harry every day and he can be my second Daddy? And my Daddy will start smiling again like he used to when Harry was my doctor._

_That’s all for now._

_All the love._

_Beau._

//

 

 

“Were you always this-“ Harry gasps, words cut off.

 

Louis smirks and circles his hips, biting his lip smugly.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Fuck,” Harry whispers, long fingers tightening around his hips.

 

Louis grinds back onto him with a knowing, crooked smile.

 

“What was that you were saying, babe?”

 

Harry huffs out a breath, green eyes popping open to stare at Louis. His hips shift off the bed and it’s Louis’ turn to lose his breath when Harry eases into him a little deeper.

 

“O-oh,” he tries to curb his weak, throaty moan.

 

“Yeah, you were,” Harry bends his knees, answering his own question with an assured smile now that he has Louis under his control.

 

“Always what?” Louis mutters, distracted as Harry’s hands roll over his hips onto his ass; spreading his cheeks where Harry’s sliding into him thickly; just as heavy and hot as the last time they’d done this (too long ago).

 

It’s the first time they’ve managed to share each other this way since making promises on Christmas Day.

 

Beau had (suspiciously) smiled at Louis sweetly that very morning and asked if she could stay at Joe’s. A quick call to Joe’s mother had confirmed the invitation and now…well now Louis gets to ride Harry with the glorious knowledge they won’t be interrupted.

 

“Always so _hot_ ,” Harry answers his question belatedly, leaning up to lick over Louis’ throat; sucking kisses there, too. The change in angle has Louis whimpering; arms clutching around Harry’s wide shoulders. Louis feels Harry’s smile unfurl against this collarbone.

 

“Always liked it tight, too, hm?” Harry murmurs in a deep voice; gently pulsing his hips while his hands pull Louis down onto him, slightly.

 

“Y-yeah,” Louis complies breathily, cheek falling against Harry’s hair. “Oh, god…”

 

Harry chucks out a laugh which melts into a strangled moan; body surging into Louis’ to be encompassed around fluttering muscles.

 

“Missed this,” Harry whispers, cupping Louis’ cheek to direct his mouth into a heated kiss.

 

Their bodies align, somehow. They fall into sync in an inexplicable way, but Louis feels the bond between them when their eyes lock; gazes intense while their bodies mate.

 

“Going to marry you,” Louis promises, lifting up and sinking down with a hitched breath when Harry’s hips surge to meet him halfway.

 

Harry smiles but it’s more fierce pleasure than unbridled happiness.

 

“Going to give me babies, Lou?” He asks against his ear. “I want babies with you.”

 

Louis cries out and his head falls back, exposing his throat as Harry thrusts into him, three times, in quick succession.

 

“You can have as many as you like,” he rushes out his promise; earning a smug smile from Harry.

 

“Damn right,” Harry smiles against his cheek; kissing there and then sucking another owning kiss into his collarbone.

 

Louis is his now, has maybe always been but Harry had let him go; had lost him for a while. He’d lost himself too and it was Beau that brought them back together. It was Louis who brought him back to earth from the dizzying heights of his cloud-filled mind. He swallows; wanting the perfect words to express how he feels.

 

“I love you,” he manages huskily; biting his lip.

 

It’s probably too soon, it might be the wrong thing to say and Louis might hate him for it but-

 

“I love you, too, Harry.”

 

 _Fuck_.

 

What did Harry do to get so lucky?

 

His hand trails down Louis’ chest, nestling between his thighs to grip his hardness; fingers wrapping around him and stroking with an expert tug.

 

“Y-you…” Louis gulps, no accusation staying in his mind long enough to be hear.

 

“Mmm,” Harry’s smile grows into a grin as Louis gasps, pleasure bubbling over as he spills into Harry’s hand.

 

“Still like it inside you?” Harry murmurs.

 

Louis’ thighs push open as far as he can manage; muscles quivering in over-use. He’s weak to hold himself up but it doesn’t matter because as soon as he nods; Harry’s groaning; his body jerking as he releases into Louis with quiet huffs.

 

They both clutch each other panting; slowly accustoming to reality among the loud explosions outside from fireworks going off in tandem.

 

Louis blinks at Harry; almost forgetting.

 

“Happy fucking New Year,” he whispers.

 

Harry chuckles and wraps his arms tightly around him before twisting to topple him onto the bed; easing out of him before draping himself heavily over Louis’ smaller body.

 

“Hold me, Lou,” he presses his cheek into Louis’ chest endearingly.

 

Louis’ arms go around him easily; fingers tangling into his thick near-curls.

 

“Always,” Louis assures of his request.

 

And this time he hopes he gets to prove it.


End file.
